Surviving Ireland

The Eyeries Family Festival July 2011

2011-04-25T01:38:00.000-07:00

And apologies once again. I've been busy - too busy!, unwell, and simply not up to writing. If you've ever experienced a traumatic event, you'll understand what I mean. However, I'm starting to feel a wee bit better, and must say that residing here in Eyeries is helping. In fact, it's so peaceful here that I'm thinking of setting up the Richards Official Sanitorium to offer anyone that needs it a welcoming rest.

Now that that's done, I thought I'd best get down to business which is as follows: now that I've managed to almost-settle in this small corner of Ireland, the local committee has informed me that for the first time in 30 years, they've getting with the program by launching the Eyeries Family Festival. This event, taking place in late July of this year, is chock full of fun for the entire family: from live music on the small streets of the village to a Busquing Competition and - get this - screenings of some of Maureen O'Hara's classic films, including The Quiet Man - made possible by the Maureen O'Hara Classic Film Foundation.

So if you don't mind, and if you know anyone that's around these parts in late July, would you spread the word?

She Lives Right Up the Road, Didn't Ya Know?

I should explain: now 90 years young, Ms O'Hara has retired in Glengarrif, a beautiful small town located about 45 minutes north of here. I've not had the privilege of meeting her yet, but I understand that not only is she able to recall the tiniest detail of her many films, but that she's also a wonderful human being. Now and again - or so I'm told - she ventures out onto the streets of Glengarrif, greeting passerby's as if she's simply another human being - rather than one of the greatest actresses around.

Apparently, Ms O'Hara has been retired in these parts for years. I am also told that she has established a Foundation that will promote the arts in the area (as well as her film classics). Shortly, and as funds become available, she is organising the construction of a Foundation Centre. This will not only act as an Arts Centre of some kind, but also provide a location for her extensive archive of costumes and memorabilia, as well as her film collection. I can't wait for it to open in that I must say that she is one of my favorite actresses.

So forgive my absence. Oh - and for more information on the Eyeries Summer Festival, please go to www.eyeriesfestival.blogspot.com.

My best to you all - Tom

A Musical Jewel in the Beara

2011-01-17T01:23:00.000-08:00

Ah, what does one do on a Sunday afternoon? Read the paper perhaps? Follow the Bears (mind, I find it difficult to do over here. American Football is only available via SKY Television - and I won't pay their enormous fees). Take a walk? (Beautiful, of course, and incredible walking is available only minutes from my front door).

You could, perhaps, go to see a Concert Pianist. But in the Beara? 250 miles from Dublin? Another 150 miles or so from London? Thousands of miles from Carnegie Hall? Not likely, you'd think. Not on the Beara Peninsula. But you'd be wrong.

Meet David Syme: neighbour (he lives less than 10 miles from me); a fellow that hails originally from Detroit but who also lives part-time in Houston; and an incredibly talented concert pianist. Like this guy is gifted! David has had the good fortune to play all over the world: Japan, Mexico (for the President, naturally!), the Lincoln Center, the Kennedy Center in Washington DC, the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion... and with some of the best (including the Royal Philharmonic, the London Philharmonia, and the Vienna Symphony, to name a few).

So what do you do on a Sunday afternoon in the Beara? Why you go see David play, of course.

Hospitality, Houston Style (and all in the Beara)

I'd learned about David from a wonderful masseuse, Heaugott (a Dutch native who's lived here for over 10 years) just a few days ago. She told me to go along...it would be an experience that I'd never forget. She was right!

Arriving at an incredibly beautiful home with stunning views of Bantry Bay, guests are greeted by David's wife Suzanne. Entry at the door was 20 euro - the price of a couple of pints. But for that small sum you receive an afternoon of entertainment that beats even Carnegie Hall.

First, and having paid your entry fee, Suzanne invites you to select one of David's CDs - on the house of course: "With our compliments. We're just glad you're here," she says, her wonderful eyes full of down-home Houston warmth. I select a CD entitled Missing You. I should explain that David has an eclectic range of musical interests. This incredible CD was filled with a wide range of wonderful love songs that we'd all recognize: From You Are So Beautiful, to When I Fall in Love, to (and a personal favorite) When Sunny Gets Blue. What a CD! I bought another one, of course, just to demonstrate some Yankee support. Then - along with 35 or so other Guests - sat in Suzanne's beautiful house awaiting the star attraction.

And is he ever! On first sight, David doesn't look like a Concert Pianist, at least not my vision of same. He's a rather big man (he jokes about it); he's Jewish (he tells incredibly funny Jewish jokes); his hands look big enough to lay bricks (not that he's a brick layer).

And then he sits. And his fingers reach out. And he plays. And the notes that emanated from his Yamaha Baby Grand were absolutely magic.

For an hour he treated us to a feast of amazing classical music: from Ravel to Liszt to Beethoven. After the first hour he took a needed break (David puts his heart and soul into his concerts, and the energy that requires is astonishing). For the next half hour, we're invited into the Syme's kitchen to sample a scrum-de-la-licious assortment of Suzanne's baking. Personally, I liked the oatmeal cookies the best! Add a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, and Guests are more than ready for more captivating music from David Syme.

The next half hour is also pure heaven...David flexes his repertoire by playing a wide variety of artists and composers: Gershwin (David's interpretations of that Great Composer have received accolades from all over the world), traditional Irish Music (his rendition of Danny Boy had tears coming to our eyes), and contemporary artists that all of us recognize immediately (such as David's wonderful interpretation of Elton John hits). He even had time to play When Sunny Gets Blue, just for me!

The concert ended with a standing ovation. And shouldn't it? Amazing music, great food, wonderful company...and all available 4 miles east of Castletownbere, 8 miles from my front door, and with the breathtaking vista of the Beara Peninsula surrounding this place of musical magic. Who needs to go to Carnegie Hall?

If you're in the Beara Peninsula, why not stop by for a visit with David and Suzanne? It's a musical jewel that you'll never forget.

Oh, and by the way: if you'd like more information on David, his upcoming global concert tours, and the opportunity to purchase any of his many CDs and DVDs, why not visit his website: http://www.sympepiano.com/. I'm sure that he and Suzanne would appreciate it!

For more information on living and surviving in Ireland, why not purchase Tom's book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland. You'll love it!

Oy! The Tales of an Eyeries Christmas

2010-12-29T02:27:00.000-08:00

The Day of the Wren

I don't know about you, but the day after Christmas is usually spent sleeping off the Christmas Dinner of the day before. In Ireland, that day - that 26th of December - is a celebration in and of itself. Saint Stephen's Day marks the celebration of St Stephen, apparently Christianity's first martyr. Betrayed by the worrisome presence of a wren - a small bird of wondering heritage - the poor Saint was stoned to death by invading Vikings.

It's no wonder that wrens have a bad name in this part of the world. Which is why on St Stephen's Day - and if you're very lucky - the Wren Boys (usually a bunch of local neighbours intent on making a few bob) will knock on the door on this day to sing magically (or drunkenly, depending on the time of day) regarding the poor bird. To whit:

The wren the wren the king of all birds

St Stephens Day was caught in the Furze

Up with the kettle and down with the pan

And give us a penny to bury the wren.

Often, the small group will be dressed in costume and whatever comes to hand: old Santy hats, Irish football jerseys, and mad wigs. All I know is that the lazy day after Christmas is made brighter with the appearance of the Wren Boys.

In Eyeries, we have more than our share of crazed human beings who delight in giving their neighbours a spot of almost free entertainment. Constant knocks on the door all the morning gave me much pleasure. Next year I think I'll try it myself, if they'll have me.

Crazed Christmas Swimmers

Ah, but if you think performing in wild costumes on what had to be one of the coldest days of the year is nuts, how about taking a swim in Coulagh Bay? Sounds crazy? You're right. But that's exactly what some of the more crazed residents of Eyeries did on this St Stephen's Day. My God, but it must have been well below freezing. The wind was howling. Snow glistened in the surrounding fields. Combers pounded the rocky coastline tossing spume high into the air. But did that stop the erstwhile swimmers from Eyeries, County Cork?

You guessed it. It didn't.

Fortified with mugs of hot mulled wine (for adults only, naturally), male, female, young and old plunged into the cold sea apparently to provide exceptional entertainment to those who refused to join them.

Did I go swimming on St Stephen's Day? Not on your life. Not even next year. And that's a promise.

Merry Christmas from Eyeries

2010-12-23T01:19:00.001-08:00

Songs of the Sea

2010-12-20T01:52:00.000-08:00

It's a poor picture taken with a lousy camera, but it gives you the idea...

Five miles from where I sit are the Skellig Islands. Pushing up from the floor of the Altantic, one of the most westerly bits of land in Ireland, and home Centuries ago to a group of Monks who sought solitude, the Skelligs - and Skellig Michael in particular - are some of the most beautiful, and most magical, islands to dot the Irish coastline.

The geographic glory of this area is startling. Coastal roads twist and turn, yielding stunning and breathtaking views. Seabirds hunt and play in the often stormy Atlantic. Those same storms drive mountainous waves against rocky shores and hidden snags that have sunk many a local trawler.

The Skelligs are often inaccessible due to the weather, as if ocean jewels just out of reach, teasing many with their isolated beauty.

It's as if God has created a small corner of heaven in this place, dotting the landscape with beckoning mysteries. As the weather improves, I intend to visit many of these wonders, which seem so impossibly out of reach just now.

And when I do I'll bring you along. That's a promise.

65 Souls Here - Oh, make that 66

2010-12-13T01:33:00.000-08:00

Ever wonder what it's like to live in a small village? Don't know about you, but I've always lived in the Suburbs. First in Chicago. Then in...Seattle, New Jersey, Miami, Chicago again, Ann Arbor Michigan, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Long Island, San Francisco again (Dublin California, actually)....then Ireland...Navan, Kentstown, Trim and Dunshaughlin, all in County Meath. And all of them (except Kentstown which could be best described as a wide spot in the road) were Suburbs.

Well, there are no Suburbs in Eyeries. Located on the Beara Peninsula in the very southwest of County Cork (and the island of Ireland), and the next stop west being northeastern Canada, Eyeries is a village of only 65 (make that 66 as of a few weeks ago) souls.

The village has a main street. A Catholic Church. Two pubs. One very good upmarket restaurant. No fast food restaurants. One petrol station which also acts as the village's only hardware store and also one of three food stores. A post office (in which another food store is also located). A small tea shop owned by Evie, a wonderful older woman who makes scrumptious Scones, but only during the Summer months. An old Dance Hall that is closed now but used to be a true Ballroom of Romance.

And that's it.

And yet...the village isn't isolated. It's only 10 minutes from Castletownbere (one of Ireland's largest fishing ports), 30 minutes from Glengariff (where Maureen O'Hara of The Quiet Man now resides), 50 minutes from the bustling town of Bantry, and 2.5 hours from Cork, Ireland's second capitol (or first capitol, if you believe anyone from County Cork).

Eyeries is small. The coastline which you've seen is beautiful. Miles of coastal walks along the Ring of Beara eminate from this small village. An 18th Century English Coast Guard station - now in ruins - rests near. Older ruins, the site of many Irish legends, dot the landscape. From my back window I have a view of Coulagh Bay. Across the Bay, and at night, I can see the lights of the equally small village of Kilkatherine. Beyond that - the Atlantic. And jutting up around the Bay, holding it in great stoney arms, are the Kerry Mountains.

It's wonderful. It's unknown. Only a few hundred tourists, mostly walkers from Continental Europe, visit every year. They come for the views and for the silence and the peace. Yet they seem to keep the location of Eyeries to themselves. Eyeries seems to be an unknown paradise. Perhaps another Bali Hai or Shangri-La.

I hope it stays that way.

The Serendipity of Music

2010-05-04T07:17:00.000-07:00

Every now and then something magical happens. Some people call it Serendipity. All I know is that when something good; something joyful; something that strikes like a thunder clap occurs it makes life worth living.

Or perhaps it simply allows us to see a bit more clearly, or to have the strength to get up for another day.

When I was a kid, I lived in Arlington Heights Illinois. Like any teenager, friends were important: those were the folks that showed me how to start weaving the tapestry of my own life. Those were the guys who helped me explore: bicycle trips, girls, Scouts, girls, music, girls, religion, girls, nature, girls, and the world around me, which very much included girls.

I never kept friends too close possibly because I was bound to move on. That's what happens when you're an airline pilot's son. You move and move: from Illinois to California to New York to Florida to Washington State to Ireland. Along the way, you'll pick up treasures that you can take with you and that are easily transported: the glory of a sunset; the fun of a beach; the memory of a first kiss. But you can't take friends with you. They don't pack too well. So instead you save the memories in your mind's photo album, taking them out occasionally to study them like a worn but valuable stamp collection.

When I was 13, I had a couple of good friends: Jeff, Terry...and my best friend Steve. Steve was taller than me (easy to do); he was stronger than me (easier to do); he could play the Guitar better than me (easiest of all). And I looked up to him and treasured him because I had at last found a real friend. We hung out together. We played Guitar together. We talked about girls together. He was the guy that I stammered to when I finally got to 2nd Base with Barbara Whazhername. He laughed like hell because I was so damned innocent. Like a character out of Summer of '42, my hand had initially turned left rather than right at the first obstacle. But I finally found my double objective, or so my memory remembers.

When Steve laughed at my innocence I laughed with him. I laughed because he was my friend and I loved him.

Usually, I'm the guy who leaves when my father would sadly state that we'd have to move. This time, in 1970, it was Steve. His folks were moving back to their homestead way down in the Southern US, and they were insisting that he come with him. Damn. It almost broke my heart.

We did our best to keep in touch, a couple of boys writing letters separated by a couple of States, a few thousand miles, and wildly different experiences. But as the months passed, our letters became less frequent. Finally, they stopped all together.

We lost touch. For the next forty years we stayed out of touch.

Then only today, I found him again. Or he found me. He saw me on Facebook, and he emailed me. It's a damned miracle, is all I can say. And all because of Music and a new Guitar. Just like it was when Steve and I played together.

I wrote him instantly. This is what I wrote to him. And it's true. Every word.

Dear Steve: One more note before I get back to work:

I'd always had music in my life one way or another. A song, a guitar, albums.... Over the years and as kids and grandkids came along, music was shelved to make room for family, work, and the clutter that goes with living. I even managed to break the neck of that old Harmony Guitar that I had when we were kids. I'd taken it all the way to Ireland with me, and the music died 10 years ago.

Then only last week I'm walking through the small town of Navan where I've lived since 82. I knew I needed a bit of personal music in my life. Across the street was a music shop. On the spur of the moment I walked in and bought a new guitar. I started playing it only days ago. And yes, I'm still horrible. More so now because the fingers have forgotten. Mind, I know it's like a bicycle. Hidden in there somewhere is an ancient memory, and until I remember I'll keep struggling.

But while my stiff fingers picked the almost remembered strings, I thought of you.

And then today, I heard from you.

And that, I suspect, is what Music is all about.

Tom

A Passion for Irish Ressurection

2010-04-04T05:06:00.000-07:00

On Good Friday, the faithful walk into their local churches, heads bowed. Before them stands a sanctuary empty of the Body of Christ: it's a space of shadowy reflection; a time of sorrow; a time for remembering holy sacrifices of days gone by. A time when many confess the sins that have been committed.

It's also a time for remembering that soon, the sorrowful days will be swept away by the Winds of Ressurection: that following confession comes forgiveness. And with that, light finally intrudes upon a season of Lenten darkness.

In contemporary Ireland, we have so much to forgive!

We have an economy in shambles. More young skilled workers are emigrating to Canada and Australia than at any other time in the last 30 years. And while the country is being bled dry of its most important asset - its people - Irish politicians play with their worry beads as they seek to prop up the country with billions of euro in borrowings. "Surely," people think, "they understand that this will bankrupt generations to come." Unlikely, I'm sure.
The Church, with its crimes of sexual abuse, cover-ups, and denials has worked to blow out the flickering lights of faith, trust, and spirituality. Within this vacuum, Irish people attempt to look for hope, recognising that an institution and way of life is dying before their eyes.
The public sector, with their eyes locked on money, failing to see that those in the private sector are suffering the same deprivation. Yet allowing strikes and discontent to disenfranchise the very people that they are supposed to serve.

Oh, we've so very much to forgive! We stare into the darkness, pummelling our chests with agony, daring to seek hope.

And yet, hope there is.

Ireland and her people have overcome challenges over generations. Their stout hearts and strength of character will overcome. And with Christ as a loving example, the Irish will forgive - and move on - into a time of Ressurection.

Despite the crazies who would stop them.

An Ex-Pat's View of America

2010-01-18T18:52:00.000-08:00

It's my last day in Florida. After days of sub-zero Fahrenheit temperatures, the weather finally warmed up, and Florida feels at last like Florida. Mind you, I've been gone for so many years that I wonder if I know what Florida is supposed to feel like. Or any State in the Union, for that matter.

What got me thinking about this was a question posed by one of the resident's of Freedom Plaza, a retirement center for Seniors. This woman - and I suspect that she's near 90, and endowed with a wisdom beyond even her years and an energy and sensitivity that seems much younger - asked me: "Tom, you keep writing about how you find Ireland. Let me ask you: How do you find the United States? What changes do you see? What impresses you? What disappoints?"

Tocqueville, the 19th Century French political thinker and historian, was able to encapsulate his views of America in his treatise, Democracy in America. I am no Tocqueville, but the woman's question intrigued me. Therefore, and for what it's worth, some views from an ex-pat who hasn't lived in this country for 27 years, going on 28:

The price of gasoline is higher than it used to be - and folks over here bitch about it. They should be thankful that they're not paying over 5 bucks a gallon. That's what I pay in Ireland for the stuff.
Americans are out of work and they like to blame a lot of people - while it's true that many American companies have given away a whole slew of jobs by 'out-sourcing' skills to India, Malaysia, and similar (which makes me fume, by the way), I grow tired of the blame game. Yes, it's horrible when people lose their jobs (I've lost everything more than once). And it's also true that the greed of bankers, consumers, business people, congressional leaders, and regulators are to blame. But at this point - who cares? If someone is out of a job then go get one. If they can't get one, then start a business. I've been out of a job a couple of times. No one offered me much - just an opportunity. And I grabbed that with both hands, started a business, and began writing. I stopped blaming and started doing. I wish that people would stop bitching and do something constructive.
America is not falling apart - this is one of my pet peeves: folks I know in both the United States and Europe, citing Rome as an example, seem to take pleasure in stating that the sun is setting on the "American Empire". To that I can only say: "BS". Americans are some of the most industrious in the world. They are innovators, doers (contrary to my point above), reachers of Moon Dust. While it may be true that the United States will no longer be the strongest economic power in the world (China will possibly pass us very soon), the country and its people will be able to hold its head high.
Americans are extraordinarily giving - and not only with their money. With the smile of welcome that is on their lips as they greet a stranger; with the generosity of living that is in their hearts; with a recognition of how kindly fortune has smiled on them, and a willingness to give back. That is the America that I know. A kind hearted people firmly rooted to the soil of a great nation, who always seem to extend a giving hand when adversity strikes. That's always been the case. It was when I left and it still is.
America has problems, but it will prevail - it is true that this country has its share of problems: a hurting economy; an enormous pile of debt; a racial question that even now does not seem to be completely resolved; high levels of crime; falling disposable income. The list goes on and on. When I left here in 1982, that list of problems was almost exactly the same. While nothing would seem to be solved, so much has also been accomplished. Yet so much remains to be done. I am concerned when I see educational funding fall, knowing that this undermines the country's most important resource: an educated citizenry. I grow desperate when I still see high levels of bigotry: against African Americans, homosexuals, Islam, and anyone else who doesn't quite fit into the 'accepted mould.' I become greatly concerned when I see our values eroded: when this country would even consider taking the word "God" out of the Pledge of Allegiance, I can only wonder what this country has become...

Ask me what I think of this country and I'll tell you: it's not perfect. It still has a long way to go. But its geographic beauty is stunning. Its people rich in intellect, determination, and benefiting from an unique melting pot of cultures.

In the past 27 years, this country has changed. Of course it has. Some changes have been for the better. Some have been for the worse. But my attitude to the United States hasn't changed:

This ex-pat still believes that it's the best country in the world.

The Soft Blessings of Ireland

2010-01-05T17:59:00.000-08:00

Right now I'm sitting at my father's desk in his apartment at Sun City Center, Florida. He lives in Freedom Plaza, a retirement center for those of a certain age. A glass of wine (a nice Shiraz) sits at my right hand. I think of the day that's just set and think of the people that I've met here and smile. Maybe it's the wine, but I don't think so.

When my father introduces me to his friends, he invariably says, "This is my son. He's the fellow who lives in Ireland." And just as invariably, Dad's friends stare back with a look of bewilderment as they attempt to process the information.

"You live in Ireland?" they ask, not quite comprehending. "Do you like living there?" And often, I'm quite not sure what to say.

As I've mentioned in other entries on this Blog, I'm a self-confessed schizophrenic when it comes to my attitude regarding living in Ireland. On the one hand, I miss my American homeland with all of my heart. I'm proud to be an American, and that feeling gets spun into a web of romantic images of vast plains, and purple mountaintops, and a diverse people that are some of the best in the world.

But I also think of what has happened to me during the past 27 years of living in Ireland; of the gentle journeys that I've taken; of the honest steadfast people there; of the small miracles that I've been blessed to experience...

A number of years ago, I attended a writer's centre in the Beara Peninsula way down in West Cork. That centre, located in Eyeries, attracts writers and other artists from far and wide. Many come because of its setting right on the Atlantic Ocean. Stunning sunsets, amazing moons, the soft warm breeze swept in by the Gulf Stream; all create a mystical landscape that nurtures the creative spirit with a will to live.

I should explain that when I'm working on a project, I tend to write a lot. Twelve to fourteen hour stints are commonplace for me because once I enter the world of a screenplay it's difficult for me to escape. However, there are times when the words simply won't come, no matter how long I stare at the blank laptop screen.

This was one of those times. I had been sitting in front of my laptop for hours on end, but my fried brain simply refused to cooperate. I glanced at my watch: it was 6AM and I had wasted an entire night. I knew that I was blocked and had no idea at all of what to do about it.

I grabbed my camera and walked out of the still-sleeping centre. In the east, the still unseen sun was painting brush strokes of salmon pink on low scudding clouds. I turned toward a beach in the near distance, intent on walking across the sands and to the small village of nearby Eyeries.

However, I soon discovered that a stream blocked my way. I eyed it warily. It fed right into the Atlantic. The tide was high, and its depth was unknown. But its waters were clear and it didn't look too deep. I figured that I could wade across.

I stripped naked. Bundling my clothes together and placing those with my camera atop my head, I took a breath and stepped into the stream ... and immediately found myself out of my depth. I tread water against a stiff current, yelling at the surprise of icy coldness that set my teeth chattering. I pulled myself out as soon as I could, let me tell you.

For a moment I stood at the side of that stream, catching my breath. Then I saw the sun: it glinted above the horizon. Its warmth struck my nakedness, touching my soul with its bright steady fingers.

And I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed, my head full of the image of a naked Yank standing in an Irish morning sun. But I also laughed with the sudden joy of living, of having the good fortune to be in Ireland; of the luck that had made me turn right at a cross-roads in Wales back in 1980 that had led me to this exact spot.

It was as if I had been baptized anew, and that Ireland had given me a gentle blessing with the loving waters that ran through its living veins.

I put my clothes on and walked back to the centre. My writer's block had cleared. I finished that screenplay three days later.

So to answer my Dad's friends' question: "Do I like living in Ireland?" The answer is yes. Quite a bit.

Usually, anyway.

For more stories on one American's journey in Ireland, why not buy A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, written by Tom Richards.

A Silent Night for Irish Ann

2009-12-16T00:17:00.000-08:00

Recently, I was asked by my online publisher, http://www.escapeartist.com/, to pen a travel thingy about how we celebrate an Irish Christmas over here. I thought and thought - and the more I thought, the more I wanted to do something a little different. The result is a story about my Irish friend, Ann McGoona.

I thought I'd share it with you. Thanks to Susan Beverly at Escape Artist for bugging me to write this. You can find the original article at http://www.escapefromamerica.com/2009/12/living-in-ireland-a-silent-night-for-irish-ann/

Her name was Ann McGoona. A funny looking woman, she was a friend of my wife’s and I’d known her ever since coming to Ireland in ‘82. She was all smiles and laughter, and a serious side too that listened intently if you had a problem. Over the years, she and I had become firm friends. I liked Ann quite a lot because she always had a kind word and a welcoming laugh, and when I met her my day always became that much better. Even if I moaned about the constant rain in this country, she’d look up at me from her tiny stature of four foot nothin’ and say, eyes glinting, “Ah, it could be worse, you could be dead.”

I especially enjoyed her outlook on Christmas. Not for Ann the commercial trappings of that season. Instead, she had the outlook and attitude of a child. And on an Irish Christmas of 2001, I longed to moan to Ann about how cold it was, how bloody frosty! And of the smoke that floated from the coal fires of the terraced houses, turning into a thick mist over the small Irish town of Navan. Oh, how I longed to hear her say, “Feck it. It could be worse, ‘cause you could be dead.”

But she couldn’t say it because she was dead. She was dead of cancer at the age of fifty-four, only a few days before Christmas.

Ireland at Christmas is a magical place. It is a time for family and friends; of kith and kin. Yes, it is much more commercial today than it was when I came here half a lifetime ago. But some of the traditions remain untouched. On Christmas Eve, we still light a candle in the window to welcome the Christ Child. Wives – and yes, these people are usually housewives – still mix the Christmas Pudding in an immense bowl, kneading the suet, breadcrumbs, mixed fruit and Guinness together until it’s just right. Then boiling in a pot for hours on end until the house smells like a baker’s. And finally pouring the Irish whiskey over it until it has just the right potency.

Christmas in Ireland is a time for children, which means that it’s a time for everyone because almost all of its populace are children at heart. And on Christmas Eve, the entire town of Navan still marches down to Mass, and within the draughty church that’s as old as the history of the town listens to the priest retell the story of a child born to a woman, and of His message of hope that was a precursor to his later dying.

Just as Ann had died.

On that almost Christmas night eight years ago, Ann chose to have herself laid out in a simple wooden box and placed in her parent’s front room. That house was tiny by American standards, and the crowd that came to celebrate Ann’s life could not possibly fit within its four walls. Instead, we gathered outside in the frosty narrow laneway and waited our turn to file past Ann. Inside, her family gathered at her head; a priest in attendance. And when it was my turn, I did what everyone else did: I entered the house to say goodbye. I picked up the fragment of fir tree, touching its silky needles into the bowl of holy water, brushing the droplets gently onto Ann’s forehead. Then, like the others, I walked outside to wait.

As I waited I looked up. On that almost Christmas Eve, the stars glittered overhead. A small mist gathered gently above the row of terraced houses, as if a ghostly wreath. In neighbours’ windows, candles were lit, only this time to say goodbye to a friend that they knew held no wrong. And then as I waited, the bells of the local church began to sing. And their song was Silent Night, Holy Night, and for a moment I thought of Ann and the friendship that she had for this Yank who was so far from home, and I knew that I would remember that night and that Christmas for as long as I lived.

Christmas in Ireland offers the simplicity of giving, love and laughter that many other cultures have misplaced beneath piles of torn Christmas wrappings. But it offers more: it offers a people whose hearts are filled with giving. Just like my tiny friend, Ann McGoona
Happy Christmas, Ann, wherever you are. And if I’m moaning about the rain again, let me hear you one more time: “Ah, for feck’s sake Tom, and give over. You could be dead.”

Tom Richards was born in Chicago but has lived in Ireland since 1982. He has no Irish blood in him whatsoever. Trust me! He is also the author of A Survivor’s Guide to Living in Ireland, a bestseller on www.escapeartist.com.

The Warmth of an Irish Christmas

2009-12-01T07:40:00.000-08:00

All right. It's true. The cold winds of the economy, nature, and politics are blowing through the country like an out-of-control winter's hurricane. But while public servants might threaten to strike again; while flood waters might be burying houses, farms, and entire villages in the west under ten feet of water; while the government might be readying an early-December budget that's going to blow us all to hell and back; everyone who lives here has a little secret.

Christmas is just around the corner. And we're all looking forward to it, let me tell you.

So What's Special About an Irish Christmas?

If you're Christian, or just like the spirit of the season, we all know that Christmas is celebrated in just about every country in this crazy world of ours. But an Irish Christmas is...well...a little different. I received my indoctrination to an Irish Christmas in December of 1982. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't exactly what occurred.

I'll start with the economics of the times: back then, in '82, I was almost penniless. But then the entire country was broke too, so I didn't feel unusual. My good wife Bernie and I counted out the small stipend that I'd received from my miserly employer of the time, and went into the town of Navan to go Christmas shopping.

In those days, the town's shopping district was quite small: a main street filled with assorted shops, chippers, and any number of pubs; and a tiny 'shopping centre' that even had a Penney's. We went wild! As I remember, I was able to purchase a pair of gloves and hat for Bernie (as I remember, she bought me the same), a doll's crib for our daughter, a small turkey and ham for the dinner (together with sprouts, potatoes, and bread); and a small bottle of whiskey to cheer the night away. Materially, it wasn't much of a Christmas.

But that's before the good stuff started.

Unlike Anywhere Else...

Christmas Eve in Ireland is quite unlike any other Christmas Eve I've experienced anywhere else in the world. That evening, my brother in law invited me out for a couple of pints of the black stuff. We wiled away an hour or so in the packed pub, exchanging Christmas greetings with the locals, before staggering through the crisp starry night and to the warmth of my house. There, a local priest was waiting, having barged in for a night cap before Christmas Eve mass. I must admit that I was staggered by the many times he went at the small bottle of Jamieson, and reckoned that he'd get through Midnight Mass with nary a care in the world.

After he left, my good wife and I wrapped up tight, put our child in her pram, and took a walk into the town. In those days, outdoor Christmas lights were foreign to this country. Instead, the warming glow of a single candle lit the window of every home, welcoming the Christ child once again into the world. It was an amazingly serene time: the frost covered streets were empty, not only due to the fact that so few people had cars back then, but because those that did were invariably home celebrating the season with their families. Through the small windows of the houses, we could make out parents putting secret lumpy packages beneath their simple trees. Few people then bothered with boxes to make their Christmas perfect. Instead, they would wrap up parcels any old way; dolls arms, toy rifle barrels, the heads of golf sticks would stick out every which way, as if Santa had been so busy that he simply didn't have time to do anything else.

We walked through the town and into the Church. There, our local priest - possibly feeling a bit better for it all because of the Jamieson that we'd proferred- celebrated Midnight Mass with his congregation. The Church was cold and dark, lit only by the candles on the alter and the Christmas lights that glowed warm upon the face of an infant Jesu hiding in his manger. For a moment, and despite the few hundred town's people that sat around me, I felt one of them, content in the knowledge that I'd at last found a place to call home.

Later, and after Mass, we wandered up to my wife's parent's house. There, my mother-in-law Kathleen had sandwiches waiting: thick slices of fresh ham nestled between white bread, slathered with hot Coleman's mustard. My father-in-law Luke handed us not only a cup of tea but a pint bottle of Guinness too. And for awhile, we sat around the coal fire that sparked and sighed and bathed the small living room in ghostly shadow. We whittled away some time with Luke telling ghost stories of the Banshee, and the time as a young man and he walked through the door to find a neighbor hanging by his neck. In Ireland, Christmas is also a time of ghostly tales, and so it was that night.

And finally we left, walking again through the clear starry night, accompanies by the glow of candles, and to our own home and its warming Christmas Candle.

Christmas here has changed so very much over the years. As the country has grown richer, the pile of material packages under the Christmas tree have also grown. Now, deep in recession, perhaps once again we'll learn to understand the true spirit of an Irish Christmas: a time of starry nights, and simple Christmas Trees. A time of empty, frosty streets and the warmth of family and fellowship.

A time of candles alight in windows, to warmly welcome friends.

For more stories about living and surviving in Ireland, why not buy Tom Richards' book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland? Just click here...

"Negative Feelings are Not in the National Interest!"...God

2009-11-27T04:50:00.000-08:00

Introducing Brian Cowan, the head of our Irish government, a man elected (almost) by the people, and who, it seems, has now appointed himself as God.

Recently (like only yesterday, according to the radio), our beloved Taoiseach (translation: 'Leader' in Irish) was apparently instructed by his spin doctors to say something constructive that might mitigate against the despair which many Irish people feel regarding the current state of our national economy. I gather that Mr Cowan took this advice to heart. From on-high, and secure in his own fiscal safety net that includes one of the world's highest salaries for a government leader (he makes much more annually than even President Obama), our great leader uttered something like:

"People's negative feelings regarding the Irish economy are not in the national interest."

I heard this as I was driving to what is left of my company, and almost lost control of the car. Hence, I cannot be certain of Mr Cowan's exact quote. But the above gives an exact intent, if nothing else.

For those of you who do not live here, take heart! You do not have to listen to the utterances of the above crazy man. Those of you in America can at least hear the positive spins offered by the President, Ms Palin, the Leader of the House of Representatives, and even such authority figures as Fox News.

Here, we have to listen to the drooling oratory of madmen, of which Mr Cowan is a wonderful example. And his patronising drivel only serves to make those of us who live in Ireland realize one thing:

We're all fucked.

It Really Is a Terrible Beauty

Here, in this delightfully green and friendly country, we're putting up with one of the worst recessions known to modern Irishman - or woman for that matter. Only this past week, another thousand people lost their jobs. That may not seem like much, but in a country of only 4 million people it matters very much indeed. Unemployment is now well over 12 percent and, we fear, bound to go much higher. People are losing their homes to foreclosure. What makes this madness is the fact that the banks to whom they owe money are also broke. However, those banks have received billions in government aid as part of a bail-out program.

Out in the south and west of this country, the economy is made even more difficult by weeks of constant rains that has led to once-in-a-lifetime floods. Hundreds of people in the cities and towns of Cork, Galway, Athlone, and elsewhere are now homeless. Mr Cowan made it a point to visit these wastelands to commiserate with his people, and invariably take advantage of any photo opportunities that might be available. Unlike God Almighty, however, Mr Cowan was not able to part the waters which might have provided some practical help to his poor national constituents.

The country is in a shambles right now: people have no confidence. They have stopped spending. They're losing their jobs. They're losing their homes. The Irish are downright bruised and discouraged, and waterlogged by the rain and the torrent of bad news that has been going on for almost two years now. We need encouragement and vision and a positive outlook on the future.

And what do we get instead? A mawkish, patronising comment from the guy who is supposed to be leading us out of this mess, and that dismisses our feelings of doom and misery as "not in the national interest."

To that I can only respond: "Mr Cowan, get stuffed."

Yarns from a Wandering Yank

2009-11-26T06:45:00.000-08:00

Every now and then the day job gets too much. On those occasions - and when the yearning to write creatively grows in my belly - I'll chuck it all for a week and head to an arts center. I'm sure there are such places in the States and elsewhere, but because I've been here so long, I'm not too familiar with the American varieties. Here in Ireland, and on such occasions, I'll throw my laptop and some survival gear into the car, and head north to County Monaghan and the Tyrone Guthrie Centre.

The residence, located in the small village of Annaghmakerrig in said County, is a little peace of tranquility. "This residential workplace (and I quote from their website) is open to professional practitioners in all art forms.... In a tranquil, beautiful setting amid the lakes and drumlins of County Monaghan everything is provided for including delcious food. Sir Tyrone Guthrie bequeathed his family home and estate to the State (e.g. Ireland) with the proviso that it be used for the benefit of artists. It was an inspired decision..."

Inspired is right. You should see this place, and the above photo almost does it justice. The great house, left to Ireland and its artists in 1971, is a virtual paradise. Located in a tranquil surrounding, surrounded by hills and forests, and resting on the shores of a modest lake, it is the perfect place to spin yarns, tell wild stories, create music, proffer jokes to other artists, and otherwise attempt to get some creative work done.

It is a veritable paradise for practitioners of almost any art: a range of studios are available for painters and pot throwers; a full sized dance floor is on offer for those with a bent toward ballet or modern or jazz or Irish traditional. The music room comes with a full size Grand Piano. And us writers know that a desk is available in each room with light, and electricity, and a whole lot of time and solitude within which to go creatively crazy.

But the house has its share of ghosts, let me tell you. And on many an occasion I've felt the skin crawl, swearing that some long-dead visitor has decided to give me a helping hand with a particular story.

Of course, there was one night not too long ago. I'd come to the Centre to work on a horror screenplay, Banshee. Ghosts and bloody ghouls were swirling through my head anyway. And as I was working on one particular scene - a scene in which the full moon rose and the Banshee wailed, I happened to glance out the window.

My room faced onto the lake. And there, above that nearby body of dark, still water, at some ungodly hour of the morning, the full Moon rose. And I could swear that I heard a bump in the night, and a whisper of garments, and the sigh of an old woman behind me. I turned but of course no one was there...

I'm going back to the Guthrie Centre soon to work on a new screenplay that I'm considering, and to write a companion book to A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland - this time a travel book with the tentative title: Yarns from a Wandering Yank. While I'm there, perhaps I'll bring all of you along too.

You never know. Together, we might see the full Moon rise and the screech of the Banshee as it washes over the dark and lonely Irish countryside.

Retire to Ireland! Or So Says Forbes Magazine

2009-11-23T08:09:00.000-08:00

Recently, I received an email from my favorite publisher, escapeartist.com, stating that they'd been contacted by Siobhan Maguire, a hard working reporter for Ireland's top newspaper, The Sunday Times. Siobhan, in turn, had contacted escapeartist in that she has been tasked with writing an article about Retiring in Ireland. That article, in turn, has been prompted by the following:

In its Oct 15 2009 article 'The 10 Best Retirement Havens', Forbes Magazine ranks Ireland as Number 5 on their list. Not too shabby, I must say. Forbes notes that Ireland ranks high on the list for the friendliness of its locals, as well as its 'rest and relaxation' index. The beauty of the country is also noted, as well as the (relatively) low local taxes.

Their article - and a chat with Siobhan - started me thinking. If I were an American living, say, in Michigan, would I want to consider retiring in Ireland? And if so, why would I? What are the benefits of retiring here? What are the downsides? What would I have to do to gain permission to live here?

Manana...Irish Style

I had an Uncle in Law named Bernie, a true fisherman if there ever was one. Bernie lived in Navan, of course, and spent most of his time on the Boyne River, rod in hand. The man was forever tying flies, and grumbling at his poor luck in landing a salmon...but I'll say this about him: he knew how to live a stress-free retirement. Bernie's idea of a day out was throwing his rod over his shoulder, packing a couple of sandwiches and a flask of tea in his fishing bag, and walking off down the river for a day spent in the misting Irish rain.

He'd whistle to himself as he strolled down the river, with nary a care in the world. The man lived to be 89. One day, he must have decided that the fishing would be better on the other side of that Great Divide in the sky, because one morning he simply refused to wake up. He passed away with a secret smile on his face, and I suspect that he was already considering the casts that he'd use in God's fishing grounds.

Bernie had the right idea: he'd let his worries wash off his back as easily as shaking the rain from his broad fishing hat. And many Irish that I know do the same thing. Maybe it's genetic (and God knows that as a non-Irish person I can sweat the small stuff - as well as the large - most of the time) but many Irish friends of mine - including my good wife - have the ability of saying 'manana' to themselves. Perhaps they see a bigger picture: of life filled with gentle rivers, sweeping green hills, and verdant golf courses. They know that life isn't about the stresses and strains that we're faced with daily, but rather about friends and family; holidays and celebrations; a pint and a laugh with friends.

For that reason alone, this attitude toward living that is at the heart of many Irish souls, Ireland is worth considering as a retirement destination. But there are many more reasons to consider moving here.

Lower Costs of Housing - buying or renting a house in Ireland hasn't been as inexpensive in over 5 years. Now that the Celtic Tiger has met its much publicised demise, finding yourself a little corner of Irish heaven in which to call home is affordable. For instance: a newly refurbished 2 bedroom cottage with lake frontage on Lough Ramor is being sold for €90,000 - that's approx $135,000. Go to http://www.daft.ie/ for more information on hundreds, if not thousands, of affordable Irish properties.

The Friendliness of Her People - I've written about this time and time again. But it's true. The people here really are friendly, and welcoming, and usually accepting. Yes, and depending on where you live, they can have a 'village mentality' which occasionally means that they'll know your business before you do. But chatting over the gate with a neighbor, or having a pint with a friend, or simply strolling up to a stranger to ask directions - leading to a chin-wag that can last an hour - is one of the charms of this country that I most value.

The Beauty of Her Character - Ireland is beautiful, and make no mistake about it. From the shore just north of Dublin, to the hills, mountains and cliffs of the west coast, this country is a veritable picture post card of pleasing geography. What I love most about Ireland, however, is the simple solitude that is available almost anywhere. I find nothing more enjoyable than taking a walk along a country road; smelling the fragrances of heather and green fields in the air; of the simple quietness that allows one to hear a bee bumble busily in a nearby rose bush, or a far off cow moo her pleasure. The simple beauty of this country is rarely matched.

The Cultural Crossroads of Her Fabric - Ireland is a tapestry of interwoven - and sometimes conflicting - cultural cross-currents. Here, in this little island that measures slightly more than 300 miles long, rests a history that stretches back millennia, but that also contains a highly skilled and educated people, and one of the most potent centres of technology in the world. Here, and within miles, you can visit a monument to Bronze Age engineering (Newgrange, which is only 5000 years old, and by many archaeologists' reckoning, is older than the Pyramids), and the latest chip fabrication plant in Leixlip County Dublin (Intel, one of the world's most profitable tech companies).

Doctors and All Things Medical - we have some great hospitals in this country, and some fine medical practitioners. In my opinion, the medical community really is concerned about the people that they serve. And it's still relatively inexpensive: about €50 to visit your GP.

The Cost of Living - okay, and I'll admit it: Ireland has a bad press when it comes to the cost of living here. For years, the country managed to price itself out of the reach of many visitors -and residents, come to think of it. But the good news is this: prices here are falling rapidly. Everything from the electricity that we use to the vegetables that we buy is becoming less expensive. The downside, of course, is that the economy is still contracting as I write this. But the good news is that it's more affordable.

Access to Europe - Ireland is within an hour of Dublin, 2 hours of Portugal, and within easy access of all of the Continent. Cheap flights (http://www.aerlingus.com/ or http://www.ryanair.com/) and ferry travel (http://www.irishferries.com/) make visiting other countries and cultures inexpensive and enjoyable.

The Downsides of Retiring Here

I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the negatives to retiring in Ireland.

It rains a lot. And I mean A LOT. This year, November has been one of the wettest months on record. But that doesn't stop you from taking a walk, drinking a pint in a local pub while being warmed by a peat fire, or chatting with a neighbor over a cup of tea. Dress for the weather, and it's still a wonderful place to live.

It's also true that Ireland has high levels of 'unseen' taxation. While it's true that those incomes aren't hit as hard as many countries at source (that is, we pay less in Income Tax and social security taxes than many), we are hit by a wide variety of so-called 'stealth' taxes. See my article about the costs of living in Ireland for more information.

Too, being an ex-pat can be a lonely and emotionally draining experience. I've written about this before, but it's something to keep in mind. If you're considering retirement in Ireland, or any other country, remember that the culture will be different to what you're used to. The people are different. They will have different attitudes and beliefs. What I will say is that this is part of the experience of living overseas. If you move with the right attitude, you'll do just fine. But don't be surprised if you battle moments of self-doubt about your decision, or occasionally wish that you'd never moved at all. That too is part of the emigrant journey. And as I always say - if I can survive abroad, so can you.

So What Do You Have to Do?

If you're considering a retirement to Ireland, you will have to prove that you will not be a financial burden to the country. To that end, you'll have to apply for a 'Self-Sufficiency Visa' in which you'll have to spell out your financial wherewithal. Too, you will probably be asked to prove that you have sufficient health insurance. For more information, visit the Citizens Information website, and their Retirement section.

For more information on living and surviving in Ireland, why not consider purchasing Tom Richards' book on the subject. Just click here.

Walking in Ireland

2009-11-16T00:29:00.001-08:00

I recently received a message from Kristin (she runs a really nice Blog - Wanderlust - at http://www.blogcatalog.com/blog/wanderlust-5), who asked for some recommendations for walking in Ireland. Apparently, Kristin and her fella are coming in this direction next Summer, and she seems to be the type of person that prefers slogging along a country road to riding over a 4 lane highway in a large Hummer. So... and just for Kristin (and whoever else happens to look in) some comments about walking in Ireland.

Walking in Ireland is Great Fun - Even if it is Wet

Ireland has a wide range of trails and assorted paths that can take you just about anywhere. I've limited my walking to the East Coast of this country (simply because I live out this way), and must admit that as the years have gone by, I've slowed down a bit. I've never considered myself a professional walker. In fact, I still use the same pair of boots that I received for Christmas way back in 1977 (I figure that after over 30 years I finally have them broken in).

Possibly the best walk I've taken is in Glendalough. Located just south of Dublin (in County Wicklow), a walker can start out in a car park of the Wicklow National Park, and walk non-stop right around what must be one of the most lovely lakes in the country.

The trails head starts at St Kevin's, an ancient monastery that is one of the oldest in Ireland. Apparently, this saint was looking for an out of the way spot to do some contemplating. He couldn't have picked a more beautiful area: an ancient round tower and assorted small stony structures sit next to the lake, all of it nestled within a valley. The Wicklow hills surround this beauty spot, which - by the way - makes it one of the most popular tourist attractions in the country. But if you put on your boots and start slogging, you can leave most of the tourists behind.

Walking in Ireland usually isn't daunting: all you need is a good pair of boots and - of course - some rain gear. Too, and depending upon where you walk, make certain that you bring along emergency supplies of water and food. More than one international walker has become lost and has been forced to spend a night or two twiddling their thumbs as they wait for rescue.

Be prepared for boggy conditions, depending on where you go. The last time I walked around the lake I ended up pouring water out of my boots. Remember that Ireland can be soaking, and dress appropriately.

Carlingford, County Louth

If walking through a tourist area isn't your idea of fun, and you'd still like to stick to the East Coast, you could do worse that try Carlingford. This little village (pictured above), nestled between the Mourne Mountains to the west, and the beautiful Carlingford Lough to the east, is a real gem. Not only does the village have some fantastic restaurants and pubs, but it also happens to offer some great walking.

A few years ago, I put a pack on my back, loaded up with a tent and sleeping back, and set off east from the town. I climbed the Mourne Mountains (I was out of shape, but I suspect that most walkers would find it a doddle), and pitched my tent within a few meters of the summit. I was surrounded by a blend of furze, rock...and sheep...who kept me company throughout my slumbers.

The next morning, I woke to discover that a deck of cloud had formed below me. The sun rose, lighting the area in a magical tapestry of gold. Far off to the east, the clouds dissipated...I could make out the Isle of Man sitting like a far-off Avalon, glinting in the sunlight. For me, that was a moment of heaven.

Ireland has many walks: want a spiritual experience? Then why not climb Croagh Patrick, Ireland's sacred mountain in the west. Desire some of the world's most interesting geology? Then try either Connemara (to the west of Galway City) or The Burren in County Clare. Of course, you don't have to be a professional walker to enjoy Irish walking. Visit any of Ireland's remarkable ancient sites - Newgrange, Tara, or The Hill of Slane for example - and you'll experience some great walks and extraordinary sites of interest, all at the same time.

Oh - and while you're at it, and if you work up a thirst - stop in at any pub that you see along the way. You'll meet some of the world's most interesting people, while also perhaps quaffing a pint of Guinness at the same time.

For more information on walking in Ireland, go to: http://www.walkinginireland.org/

A Solution to Ireland's Economic Woes?

2009-11-06T05:39:00.000-08:00

Oy! It's not enough that the Irish economy is a mess (unemployment over 12 percent, the government tax take down almost 50 percent vs two years ago; significant increases in total government borrowings), but now that very same government is talking about an imposition of even more taxes and pay cuts upon its already over-stretched public.

I state this due to a comment made in a recent blog in which an erstwhile visitor noted that she didn't realize the good people of Ireland pay loads of taxes. So...and without further ado - and just to make you realize how lucky you are to possibly live in a country with more reasonable tax burdens (if only for the moment) - then take a look at the following.

Here's what we pay in Ireland:

VAT - 21.5 percent Value Added Tax. This tax is added - like a sales tax - to almost anything that moves: food, clothes, cars, you name it.

Stamp Duty - we pay a 'Stamp Duty' on many items: credit cards, housing, insurance products...don't worry, if you use it or buy it, the government will tax it.

Salaries - many of us pay two types of taxes on salaries: PAYE (sort of like Income Tax) and PRSI (sort of like Social Security). We're all taxed in 'bands' that start at 20 percent, then soar to over 40 percent. Many people on higher incomes may soon pay over 50 percent of their total salaries in assorted income taxes.

Automobile VRT - this bombshell of a tax can put another 20 percent (or more) onto the cost of purchasing a new car in Ireland. We pay VRT in addition to VAT on new cars.

Fuel Taxes - the cost of gasoline (petrol) over here currently runs about 3 times what a person might be paying in the US. Seventy percent (or so) of that cost is government tax.

TV Licence Fees - anyone who owns a television in this country has to pay 170 euro per annum for accessing the wonderful local programming that courses through the air.

I could go on and on, but I won't. Now don't get me wrong: we do receive services for these crazed taxes: a reasonably good, almost free medical system ensures that you won't go broke should you need your head replacing; free public school systems; an almost free university system (which, it seems, might no longer be free in the near future); a pension when you retire; unemployment benefits if you lose your job; a children's allowance payable to any family - regardless of income - of 166 euro per month for one child; 332 for 2; 535 for 3, and up to 1,550 euro per month for 8 children (makes one want to have lots of kiddies, doesn't it?) Too, many people - almost 50 percent of the populace who are below the taxable income tax threshold - pay no tax at all....

But...things are about to change.

The Looming Budget
In early December of this year - a few weeks from now - the government is planning to implement a hair shirt budget, one of the most daunting since the miserable early 1980's. In this budget - a necessity due to the horrid economy and swelling government spending - our erstwhile Irish public representatives are reported to be planning a whole series of increases in taxes, together with cuts in public sector pay. The results could be alarming.

Recently, the OECD - those mandarins in Europe who cobble together fiscal recommendations for members of the European Union - suggested wide ranging government initiatives designed to curb public sector borrowings, while promoting (we hope) job creation. Those recommendations included everything from charging tuition for 3rd Level (university) attendance, to significant cuts in pay for public sector workers (read: teachers, police, firemen, nurses, and bureaucrats), to re-tooling the tax table to include more and more lower income workers in the tax net.

Should the government follow the OECD's lead, the shorter term outlook will probably result in: strikes, increased taxes, short-term economic deflation, a drop in total disposable income, and increased unemployment. However, and longer termed, the government here might finally find a formula that will lever Ireland out of its current economic difficulties, and toward a reasonably prosperous future.

For the past 10 years, the Irish economy - and the Irish themselves - have been living far beyond its means. While we may be taxed to the hilt, we were also some of the best paid people in Europe. The result was an 'irrational exuberance' that led to soaring debt as we all financed new BMW's, holiday homes, and global vacations. However, the Celtic Tiger proved to be just as fragile as any human being, and finally succumbed to a combination of domestic and international greed, as we all sought to feather our own nests.

All of us who live here have already had to tighten our belts as the economy has continued to sour. The coming budget will mean that we'll all have to tighten our belts further.

But by taking a bit more pain now, we may be in a position to offer our children and grandchildren a brighter future.

Ambulance Chasing Irish Style

2009-11-02T04:13:00.000-08:00

What Happens in Ireland When You Need an Ambulance:

Yesterday, our neighbor's son Paul came charging to our door. The poor kid was scared to death; his 13 year old chin was quivering like Jello: "You have to come now! My Mum has collapsed!" So, of course, that's exactly what we did. My wife and I ran next door to discover our wonderful neighbor Paula lying inert on her stair's landing. She was breathing, had a strong pulse, but she was absolutely comatose.

At which point my good wife sprung into action. "Call 999!" she yelled. ("999" in case you didn't get it, is the Irish equivalent of 911.) "We need an ambulance! Right now!" And the young neighbor's son, Paul, did exactly that. Without hesitating, he ran to the phone.

And while we made Paula confortable, we took comfort in the knowledge that a local ambulance - complete with its crew of EMT specialists - was steaming toward us, blue lights blazing, weaving in and out of traffic on its way to rescue a favorite friend.

Now - before moving on - I should explain the following: Paula and her family don't have health insurance. At least not the type that many US citizens have. And yet, my wife, Paula, or her young son didn't think twice about calling for an ambulance.

Why?

The cost to Paula and her family was exactly... (wait for it)... ZERO!

What Happens in the US When You Need an Ambulance:

If you're not insured, all hell breaks loose. Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of visiting Kernville, California. In case you didn't know it, Kernville is located about 2 and a half hours NNW of Los Angeles, and maybe an hour or so from Bakersfield. Located in the arid corners of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and maybe 3 hours from Death Valley, I was struck by the beauty of the spot. The Kern River curls around the town, its tumbling energy attracting trout fishermen (or is that fisher-people, if I'm to be PC?) from all over the Western US.

Kernville has also become a fairly popular destination for retirees. Housing costs - at least by California standards - are relatively reasonable. And the location is everything you would want if you're the type to enjoy the outdoors.

But there's a problem. For you see, Kernville is a good 60 miles from the nearest hospital. And that, of course, means an Ambulance trip if you get into trouble.

I was made aware of this fact - and worry - while having a beer at the local tavern. A retired Viet Nam vet was bitching and moaning about this sad state of affairs over his bottle of Coors: "I love Kernville. But I get worried about medical costs," he said. "Recently, my friend's wife got sick. They called the ambulance to take her into Bakersfield. He was the one that almost died when he got the bill. Just transporting her from here to the hospital was over two thousand dollars. He doens't have insurance, of course."

I've been gone for too long because I almost choked on my Miller.

When I got back, I did a bit of research. Many US ambulance companies charge by the mile. And if you don't have insurance, you get stuck with it. So what does one do in California...or Maine, Florida, or Utah if - like Bernie and I - your neighbor's kid rushes to the door and his Mom needs an ambulance, and the family doesn't have insurance?

Pay through the nose, I guess.

The Pros and Cons of Socialized Medicine

Ireland, of course, has socialized medicine. That's why the ambulance bill was zero. Of course, somebody has to pick up the cost, and that someone is the taxpayer. Remember, please, that Ireland has some of the most onerous taxes in the western world. We're taxed on almost everything: salaries, of course. But we also pay a 21.5% sales tax on almost all goods and services; additional taxes when we buy cars, houses, and investment or summer houses; and tax levies on almost anything that you can imagine...television programming, credit cards, check writing... It's a horrible state of affairs, and means that many people take home less than 50% of their gross pay.

BUT, and it's an important BUT...at least if we want to order an ambulance we know that it won't break the bank. Nor will Irish citizens have to declare bankrupcy if they're uninsured and need a hip replacement, or triple bypass, or require a kidney transplant.

The downsides of socialized medicine are immense: the Irish government is ultimately responsible for the levels of care that we receive. To that end, they've developed a huge, cost-inefficient bureacracy - our Health Board - to oversee national medical care. Recently, and due to the current economic mess - a variety of interest groups have analyzed the costs of that care. And the results have proven eye-opening: huge amounts of waste - particularly within administrative levels - have gone unreported, and undetected, for years. Which means, of course, that Irish taxpayers have not received the sort of cost-effective care that they are entitled to.

As a confirmed fiscal conservative, such waste bothers me deeply. And as I watch Obama's health care proposals move through its various stages, I can only feel sorry for Americans as they ponder the consequences of a national health program ultimately run by bureaucrats. Deciding pro or con on such legislation will be difficult.

While I am not totally convinced of the efficiency of national health programs, all I can say is this: when we rang for an Ambulance to help Paula, we didn't think twice about the cost.

For more stories on living in Ireland, consider Tom Richards book A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, available at http://www.escapeartist.com/.

Halloween - as Exported from Ireland

2009-10-30T07:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, Halloween...a time for trick or treat, and the Great Pumpkin (if you're a Charlie Brown fan, that is). But did you know that the origins of Halloween are Irish?

That's right, folks. Things that go bump in the night started out over here, and is a westernisation of the Gaelic festival of Samhain. Saimhan (which roughly translates to 'Summer's End' from the Old Irish) is the end of the 'light half' of the year, and the start of darker times. If you live in Ireland long enough, you can understand why. Daylight Savings Time ended here last weekend. Now, it starts to get dark at 4:30pm or so...and we have that to look forward to for the next 5 months or so. The Ancient Irish had to cope with this same darkness. So is it any wonder that they wanted to create an excuse for a hoolie? At least they'd have some fun before falling off a cliff that couldn't be seen in the Irish darkness...

Saimhan was, however, not only an end but a beginning... It was the end of one year, and the start of the New. So it was a time for new beginnings, and new journeys. To this day, the Irish celebrate Halloween a little differently than the American version of the holiday...and to be frank, it can be much more fun.

Bonfires of Light

When I first came here in 1992, pumpkins weren't readily available. But I'd go out of my way to order one, ensuring that I could carve my jack-o-lantern just as I had in the States. Mind you, the neighbours probably thought I was crazy! They never carved Pumpkins. Instead, they carved out the innards of a Turnip. Have you ever tried making a jack-o-lantern out of a turnip? It's hard work!

But the Irish had - and continue to have - many other traditions that at the time were somewhat foreign to me. For instance, they would always serve a Halloween Brack, a tasty dense cake of raisins and fruits. Buried within would be a ring. The person who was served that ring was bound to be married in the coming year - and hence a new journey would begin!

Ghost stories are always part of the night, and bound to send a shiver up children's spines. My father-in-law loved to tell the story of the Banshee. He was convinced that he had heard the howl of the Banshee years earlier, upon the death of a friend, and he told that tale so convincingly that many of us could swear that we, too, could hear the Banshee's wail.

But it was the Bonfire that always proved to be central to an Irish Halloween. For months, the local kids gather together anything that might burn - tires, old pallets, beds and bedding - and pile them in the center of a local park. On Halloween night, those mountainous piles of jetsom are transformed into huge burning pyres of light, diffusing the darkness of the night for hours on end.

At the same time, fireworks are lit, lighting the skies with rocket's red glare. And - if you're lucky - a full Halloween moon floats above it all, casting the Irish world in a glow of creepy glory.

Today, Halloween has changed a bit. Irish kids trick or treat, just like they do in the States. Bonfires and fireworks aren't as commonplace due to Global Warming legislation. But many still tell ghost stories, and usher in the new year of light with a fragrant Brack that sends people away toward new journeys.

And somewhere, I suspect that the Old Irish are involved in a ghostly celebration of Samhain, perhaps drinking a mug of Poitin in order to celebrate the end of an old year, and the beginning of the new.

For more stories on living in Ireland, why not buy Tom Richards' book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland? Click for more details!

Why There's No Bad Guy in Ireland

2009-09-21T05:54:00.000-07:00

See the family. See Tom. See Mom and Dad and sister Cindy. It's 1961 Seattle, and this photo is taken only a few miles from the Boeing Aircraft plant. Back in those days, and as a first grader in nearby St Philomena's School, we'd get lessons in hiding under desks as Russian missiles rained down. On the television, and every now and then, the broadcasters would test their Civil Defense System. I can still see the grainy black and white photo of the CD logo in the back of my mind, and the announcer saying, "This is only a test of the Emergency Broadcast System!"

Then, a wild whistle would emanate from the old speakers on our RCA set. Later on, and a bit older, I realized that it sounded distinctly like the whistle of a melting phone in the Cold War film "Fail Safe" - the sound that the phone made as it was melted in the heat of a thermo nuclear explosion. Ah the joys of childhood!

Growing up in Cold War America had its pluses of course. We could make fun of Kruzchav and the Russians and get away with it. Hollywood was constantly coming out with new films that scared us all silly (think of those great 'B' movies: "Invaders from Mars" and "The Day the Earth Stood Still".) Both films pitted good guys against bad - even Red against Blue (Invaders from Mars). But occasionally, one wondered who was the bad guy and who was the good (the Robot Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still was no bad guy, let me tell you. He had a cool heat ray, didn't he?) And living in Seattle as we did, we occasionally got to see some of the very latest 1960s Western technology (think the Space Needle and the MonoRail - those beat the Rooskie stuff any day.)

In the United States in those days, we knew who the bad guys were, and we had Superman to help us out when those bad guys dared to show up.

In Ireland back then, they had no such bad guy to pick fun at. There were the English, of course. Seems to me that there had always been the English. Four hundred years of servitude makes one think that the Irish would have thrown them out sooner than they did, but that didn't happen until the 1920s. And even then, the Irish were divided in a bloody Civil War over the whole mess. For hundreds of years, the Irish were trapped in a country occupied by an oppressor who didn't do a whole lot for the society. The English banned Mass and the Irish language. They shipped hundreds off to penal servitude - or worse! - emigration to Australia. The English did their best to transform this little country and its people into a jewel in the British Crown. All that happened, of course, was a feeling of resentment that eventually gave vent to war.

And when the Irish at last threw off the yoke of the oppressor, the government did their level best to isolate the country from the rest of the world. Censorship limited imports. The Catholic Church limited free thinking. Films such as "The Man from Aran" portrayed the typical Irishman as a solitary man, alone against the elements, but winning none-the-less. The average Irishman, suffering the slings and arrows of a stagnant economy in those early days of the Republic, must have laughed at the idea of an Irish "Superman", knowing that they didn't have a hero to save them. Only Eamon De Valera, and all he was doing was refusing to mix with the rest of the world which caused only more hardship on an already marginalised economy and people.

Of course, Ireland and the Irish are no longer isolated. Even at the height of recession, this country has one of the highest per capita export industries in the world.

And yet, one thing the country still doesn't have: bad guys to poke fun at and a Superman to save the country. I guess Ireland would have had to go through a Cold War to experience those. Who knows? At the rate the country is going, we may experience a Cold War yet.

Remembering 9/11 - The Comfort of the Irish

2009-09-12T04:48:00.000-07:00

I'm old enough that I remember when and where I was when John Kennedy was assassinated. I was sitting in my 2nd grade classroom at St Philomena's primary school in Des Moines, Washington. That's just south of SeaTac airport, for those of you with a geographic disposition. One of those tiny Tanoy speakers came on (every classroom had one) and the Reverend Mother told us what had happened. I was too young to understand, of course. But I do remember our teacher, Sister Raymond Francis, telling us to get down on our knees and say a prayer for the fallen president. I remember my knees hitting the hard linoleum floor, and for 60 seconds or so, thirty 2nd Graders said our Lord's Prayers and Hail Mary's, and when we were done we went back to work. We couldn't understand why the adults that cared for us were crying. Nor could I understand why, when I got home, my mother was wiping tears from her eyes. Now, of course, I understand.

Yesterday was the 8th Anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center. Like my memory of Kennedy, I'll always remember where I was on that day. I was at work. My wife rang me, telling me that it had been reported that a light plane had hit one of the Towers. I turned on the set that we had at the office, and by God she was right: smoke was pouring out of the building. I should explain that I used to fly light planes, and couldn't understand how any pilot would be stupid enough to hit a New York skyscraper. I put it out of my mind, then climbed in the car to visit a client.

A couple of hours later, I was sitting in a board room discussing something that I now forget with clients who were also friends. The door flew open. A secretary announced that one of the towers had collapsed. "One of them?" I thought. We rushed to a television. CNN was broadcasting live. I got there just in time to see the second tower collapse. And like everyone else in the world I suddenly realized what was going on: my homeland was under attack. People were dead. Innocent people. And in that moment I broke down and started to cry uncontrollably. The client that I was visiting - Teresa Maguire, and I'll never forget what she did for me - took me in her arms and let me sob, then led me back to the board room for a moment of quiet.

In that moment, the professional nature of our relationship changed. We were simply human beings who didn't understand too much.

Over the course of the next few days, I received constant visits by Irish neighbors and friends. All of them wanted to commiserate. To sympathize. To extend their heartfelt feelings of loss and support to me. They did so because I was their friend. I think they also did so because I was American, and in comforting me, they also extended comfort to the land of my birth.

Ireland has always had a special relationship with the United States. For hundreds of years, my homeland has extended comfort to the Irish. Thousands of Irish took the words carved on the Statue of Liberty to heart: they immigrated to the States: the tired, the restless, the poor, looking for the Light of freedom that was shining so brightly on that open door.

On September 11 2001 the Irish returned the favor, at least to this one Yank so far from home. They extended to me hearts of comfort and kindness; warmth and helpfulness. They let my wet tears of sorrow flow onto their comforting and broad shoulders.

I'll always remember where I was on September 11th. I was in Ireland. With a people who's hearts have an infinite capacity to comfort.

The End of Free Higher Education in Ireland?

2009-09-10T00:38:00.000-07:00

Meet my son Jonathan. Taken only yesterday, Jonathan is pictured having just received his BA in Irish and media studies (don't ask me where his penchant for Irish came from - certainly not from me or his mother!)

A quick parental Brag List (I just finished putting my 3 kids through college - 9 consecutive years in all - so figure I'm entitled): Jonathan worked his arse off. He ended up at the top of his class at NUIM (National University of Ireland, Maynooth), and by doing so, also won the John Hume Scholarship - which gives him a free ride for four years toward his PhD in Irish Studies. I am justly proud of the hard work of my son. And also so very pleased with the quality of the education that he received.

Now all of that is wonderful. But what's more wonderful is this: during his undergraduate years, Jonathan (as well as his sisters) benefitted from an outstanding, and almost 'free', university education. Of course, I footed the bill for each of them. The cost? Approximately $12,000 per annum. That's right, twelve grand. And that includes everything: tuition, room and board, books, even the occasional pint.

Comparing Costs of an Irish Education with the US

I compare this cost to that of a fellow that I met in Boston a couple of months ago. About my age and with a son in one of the SUNY schools, this poor fellow and I were sitting in his office, comparing notes. It had been an age since I'd received firm figures regarding the cost of university in the States. So naturally, our talk turned to just that topic:

Me: "Ah, it's so nice to think that I'm almost done putting the kids through college. I think I'll buy a yacht!"

Him: "Don't rub it in. I still have 3 more years to go."

Me (now deadly curious): "Ah, Larry, would you mind if I ask?.... What does it cost to send your kid to SUNY?"

His eyes darkened. His brow furrowed. His face grew pasty white.

Him: "Funny you should ask. I just got the bill for the next Semester." He reached behind him and extracted a fairly standard looking statement. Written in nice lettering, it stated, DUE NOW. My eyes quickly scanned a detailed, line-itemed list of fees: tuition, room and board, frizbee ("We'll see about that!" he told me). And finally, I made it to the bottom line:

$24,347.67

Me (choking): "This is for a semester?"

Him: "Ayyyy!!!!"

A year of college at what truly is a great university costs poor Larry about fifty thousand bucks. On the other hand, a year at NUIM - which is a great university, let me tell you - is less than a third of that.

Larry glanced at me. "What does it cost to send your son to college?" he asked. I told him. The poor man had to run to the Men's Room, he was so struck with jealousy.

However, Larry and other jealous parents can take heart! Because, and due to the collapse of the Irish economy, it looks like Irish education will be almost as expensive as in the States!

Coming Soon! Increased Costs for Irish Education

The quality of Irish education, and its relative cheapness, has long contributed to the growth of Ireland's economy. Back in the early 80s, when Ireland was mired in an economic morass, even the IDA - the Irish Development Authority, those charged with bringing investment to Ireland - used the quality of Ireland's bright young kids as a sort of Corporate Mission statement. That is to say, Come to Ireland, and you're going to be able to tap into some of the brightest, and most highly educated young people in the world.

And that statement was - and still is - true. Ireland's system of higher education is second to none. For years, the government has seen fit to invest heavily in this area. And by so doing, they have also invested in the futures of its young people and therefore in Ireland, itself.

What's more, higher education - as illustrated above - was (and still is, for now anyway) affordable. If you wanted to go to college, and if you could make the grade, then you could afford it.

While I am NOT a socialist by any stretch of the imagination (okay, time that I admitted it: I'm a registered Republican. Mind you, I voted Obama), I have seen the benefits of almost free higher education at close hand. And the benefits are enormous. Higher learning has provided younger people with skills and knowledge that they might not have been able to afford elsewhere. And that investment paid off handsomely during the Celtic Tiger years.

But now? Now that the economy has tanked, the government is thinking of pulling the plug on free higher education. This year's budget (scheduled to be announced in December, or so I remember) will institute a real schedule of tuition charges. Invariably, many will no longer be able to attend college. And that will rob Ireland of a generation or so of talent and skills.

"But," you might ask, "So what? I had to pay tuition. Why not these kids?" I had to pay tuition too, back in the States. The difference was - and still is - that a wide range of loans and grants are available to US college-bound kids. That's not the case over here. Federal loans are non-existent. Grants are as scarce as pond lillies in the Sahara (my son won one of the only Grants available in the country, God bless him). Private loans from banks are expensive.

Which means, of course, that when this new tuition comes in, kids here considering college will be faced with the same sort of decisions that many US kids face: either forget about going to college at all, or know that you're going to have a six figure loan balance upon graduation.

Maybe that's okay. I don't know. But I do know this: free (or almost free) higher education was one of the significant benefits that attracted me to Ireland in the first place. If that disappears, it will make Ireland just that much less attractive. To me, and a whole lot of other people.

And that, unfortunately, is a great shame.

For more stories on living in Ireland, why not buy Tom Richards' book A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland? Just click on that link!

The Irish Diaspora - a Global Network

2009-08-16T02:13:00.000-07:00

I was standing in a Boston cemetery only a week ago. Around me rose the spectre of Irish immigrants. Post-famine headstones marked the successful - or not so successful - lives of Irish men and women who made their way to the United States in the hope of a new future. There, they struggled with millions of other immigrants to transform America into a land of opportunity.

Over the years, I've stood in so many graveyards throughout the United States and Canada and looked down at the remains of Irish immigrants who made their way to America in pursuit of their dreams. During the famine years, thousands of hope-filled Irish paid their way across the Atlantic in search of economic and political freedom. When they arrived in the States, they worked hard to make their dreams come true. And it was a struggle. Is it any wonder, then, that they stuck to their own?

Irish neighborhoods (and sometimes tenements) sprung up in all the major cities. Within those communities Irish traditions of family and loyalty were cultivated and reinforced. Favors were exchanged. Political power established. Over the years, the influence of the Irish swept through America - sometimes welcome, sometimes not. This network of power and influence protected protected the Irish. And the Irish Diaspora (a phrase coined by Irish President Mary Robinson) stretches throughout the world.

If you are considering a move to Ireland, you might see how you can turn the power and knowledge of the Diaspora to your advantage.
The Help of the Irish
It is no secret that millions of Irish descendents live in the United States alone. Many of these people have friends, colleagues, and relatives living in Ireland. As importantly, many of these people may belong to Irish-related organizations based in the States. In turn, these outfits may have contact information in Ireland.

If you're considering moving to Ireland, why not see if you can network through this existing network that is the Irish Diaspora? Research local Irish clubs and societies that might exist in your area. Contact them. Ask for their help: do they have contacts in Ireland? Are there people in their organization that you might talk to? Can they provide additional contacts in Ireland that could lead to a job or more information over here?

If you're currently living in the US but have a passion to live in Ireland, why not start your journey using the closest - and therefore easiest to access - source of information? Your local Irish organization. By doing so, you will not only make some good friends, but you may be able to network through them and onward to Ireland itself.

Thoughout history, the Irish worked hard to make their dreams come true. With a little work, you too may be able to move here too.

For additional stories on living and surviving in Ireland, and for a copy of Tom's book on the subject, to to A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland.

Why Do We Emigrate?

2009-07-30T04:18:00.000-07:00

For some strange reason, I've been thinking about the title of this entry. "Why did I emigrate?" I ask myself over and over again. The practical reasons are simple to understand: I met an Irish girl. I brought her home to the States. There, I lost my job. We had a daughter. I was living in the San Francisco Bay area, and the 82 Recession was horrible. So I had to move somewhere. And why not Ireland after all?

But the practical doesn't always explain the impractical, or the sub-conscious hand that pushes us ever onward. Hence that question: "Why did I emigrate?" I'm curious. And I started to draw some conclusions on the childhood up-bringing that made this tumbleweed blow so far East.

My father was an airline pilot. The photograph above is a United Air Lines DC-6, one of the many types of aircraft that he was rated for. His love of flying took us all over the United States. Over a ten year period Mom, Dad, my sister Cindy, and I lived in Chicago, Seattle, New York, Florida, back to Chicago again, then onto California - and meanwhile, I went to college and lived in Bloomington Illinois, Michigan, and Los Angeles. To my reckoning, and from 1964 to 1974 (and excluding my college years) I lived in four different states and in 8 homes, while attending 8 different schools.

That's a lot of travel. And I found it affected me in many ways.

I felt rootless. Since those days, I constantly ask myself, "Where is home?" Home, as they say, is where you hang your hat, or where your heart and family are. But for me, that's never been quite the case. Home to me is the smell of Mom's cherry pie wafting through our Seattle home way back in 1960. That's a long time ago. Mom isn't with us anymore, and the house - while still there - contains other people and other types of cooking smells. So finding my version of 'home' is impossible.

Moving and Moving and Moving

Moving so many times had other effects on me: while I made friends quickly, I knew that I was going to lose them. Unlike many transplants like me, my commitment and loyalty to those friends was more than 100 percent. I wanted and needed their friendship. Because I was a stranger, I wanted to be liked instantly. I did everything that I could to fit in and to deserve friendship. And when I left, I was always devastated. Even more so when my letters back to them went un-answered.

I grew up to be a cameleon: a fellow who could change his spots almost instantly. A guy who always fit in - but not quite. It is a discomfiting, uncertain feeling. A scary feeling. A feeling of never belonging to anything.

But what is most interesting is this: this sort of background also makes you want to move again and again and again. You're never quite ready to settle down. You want to experience other things on an almost constant basis: "What's around the next horizon? Will it be as beautiful as what I've already seen? Will the people be as intersting? Will they accept me and befriend me?"

For a long, long time I thought I was one of the only people in the world to feel this way. And then a friend of mine suggested that I was much like a child brought up in the military: a Military Brat. That clicked with me. In the airlines, the children of airline pilots are called Airline Brats, and for the same reason: we are powerless to control our destinies. Instead, we are the subject to the whims of airline seniority, or a new city with a chance of a promotion to Captain or a different airplane type.

I finally found a blog devoted to these types of rootless, tumbling people: http://bratblog.brightwellpublishing.net/. Written by a woman who was the daughter of a career Army officer, it explains a lot to me about my own penchant for risking everything on a whim. It also explains to me why I never thought twice about moving to Ireland and becoming a lifetime immigrant. It also tells me that while I've settled here and am happy here, Ireland has never quite been my home.

It tells me why I've been able to make a go of it here, yet also why I continue to miss a home that probably doesn't exist anymore.

So tell me. If you're considering a move to Ireland - or anywhere outside of the United States - do you have a similar background? Are you a tumbleweed who revels in your own rootlessness? Who enjoys the challenge of trying new places and people, and that desires to push the envelope by now trying a completely different culture?

I'd appreciate your posts. I'm really interested if there are other people out there who are as puzzled as I am when I ask myself the question: "Why did I move to Ireland?"

Staying Put in Ireland

2009-07-19T08:11:00.000-07:00

First, my apologies for being Absent Without Leave. Things have been a bit crazy for the past 6 weeks or so, and are going to get even crazier over the next 2 months. I fly to Boston on business on the 3rd August; my day job provides no let up (thank God - it helps to make a bit of money just now); I have a screenplay due in 2 months (and haven't started it); and I'm messing with a new novel. The fact that I've relocated to Trim in County Meath has only compounded things a bit.

But Trim is lovely! A walking town, and with Trim Castle at its heart (the same castle that was used in the film Braveheart), it's a magical place which fills my soul with goodness.

How-and-ever. That's me. So what about you?

Today, I received a post on this Blog from a woman who has just returned to Ireland from what I can only assume was an extended period abroad. She states 'Now all I have to do is stay put!'

It's difficult, that. And she's not the only one. I have a close friend - an Irish fella - who has lived in the States for 10 years. He's moving back to Ireland this coming November. And he's worried about it. "What happens if I don't fit in?" he asks. "What happens if I can't stand the place anymore? I feel like a man without a country. I belong in Ireland, but I also belong in the States, my new home."

Oh, how well I understand that feeling! - of belonging, but not quite so. So what do you do to 'stay put', as my post-lady asks? What do you do to feel a part of the place again.

I'm not exactly sure. But I have one idea: simply breathe.

The Wonder of Irish Solitude

Last week I had a business trip to County Mayo. I visited Westport, and for 2 days I stood on an open field in the rain, watching as a crew of refurbishers put up a series of electric poles. I've been contracted to help a company with a website, and the owner - a big Mayo fella who used to be a lighthouse keeper but now owns the company - stood beside me as it began to softly rain. "Ah," he says to me. "Isn't it a wonder. Breathe that air. You can believe in angels in this weather."

Angels? From a guy as big and as tough as the solid wooden poles he was erecting? And yet, that was the case. He believes in angels and so, I suspect, does the entire population of Westport because of their soft and open nature, and the goodness that I met so many times while I was there.

The next morning, I woke up early. I wandered down toward the old Harbour, and there I beheld the sunrise. Croagh Patrick, the legendary pilgrimage site, rose hundreds of feet through a horizon of cloud scud, and for a long while I stood at the sea and beheld its glory as the sun finally painted it in the warmth of the rising sun. For a long time, I just stood there: hearing the whispers of the far-off cormorants hunting for breakfast; the gentle breath of a breeze on my balding pate. And in that instance, I felt part of the place. As if the angels of the Mountain were welcoming me home after a long journey.

How do you Stay Put in Ireland? Perhaps one of the answers is this: listen to the angels. They sing to us with a song of welcome.

Lonely in Ireland - What Ex-Pats Rarely Discuss

2009-06-24T01:11:00.000-07:00

When expatriates get together to discuss their moves abroad - or when people ask me questions regarding a move to Ireland - those subsequent conversations usually stick to facts: how do I move there? How to I get a job? What should I bring?

What is often unstated, and unasked, is the emotional impact of moving to a country and culture far away from your own. Recently, on http://www.expatexchange.ie/, I saw the following cry for help:

"I have lived in Portlaoise for the last year and am wondering if there are any other expats around. I am from California and would like to know if there are other US citizens or people from other countries interested in chatting about life in Ireland. There is an expat group that meets monthly in Dublin, but the timing and distance makes it hard to get to the meet-ups...maybe if there are a few people interested we can start up some sort of group for the midlands. I've been really homesick lately and would like to hear from anyone else who is nervously facing down another Irish winter. "

Living abroad combines a sense of adventure with a sense of being a 'fish out of water'. Being an expatriate for any length of time is a roller-coaster of emotion: moving from the 'highs' of experiencing the excitement and joy of a completely different culture and adapting to it, to the 'lows' of sadness and even despair, because you may be far away from friends, family, loved ones and a culture and nation that you love.

And anyway, you can't get Bisquick over here. And suddenly, that becomes a huge problem! Or at least it seems like it... When that happens, the world seems grey and grim indeed. Colours aren't as bright, and the journey of moving to a new country can seem not only daunting, but soul destroying.

What to Do?
So what do you do when those 'lows' get too low? And it's important to recognise that you're low, and to take appropriate action: Lows can - and do - lead to depression. Over the years, I've experienced this darkness of despair, and know other expats who have felt the same way.

For what it's worth - and I'm no psychologist - here's what I've done in the past and present when Homesickness gets a little too much:

1. Go Home for a Visit - when I first moved here in '82, I didn't return to the United States for four whole years. I didn't go back for one simple reason: I was broke and couldn't afford it. And I missed my 'home' sorely. Back then, airfares were horrendously high. But now, things are different.

If you really miss home, and the world seems grey, for God's sake go back for a few days or a few weeks. A whole range of airlines now operate out of Ireland bound for the United States and North America: Aer Lingus, Continental, Delta, Air Canada... You can fly into Boston, Atlanta, Chicago... and from there, anywhere in the US. And prices are relatively cheap! So if you miss home, Go! Right now, not later! Go walk the streets where you lived. Go hug friends and family. Go to assure yourself that nothing has really changed back there, and that if it becomes truly hard, you really can change your mind and go home. You have that right! And I've found that by knowing I have a choice, living here is also my choice, and a choice that I make every day.

2. Talk About It - do you have a local friend or spouse that's empathetic to your needs and wants? If so, share your feelings of occasional loneliness and isolation with them. Find someone 'safe', and be truly honest with them. Tell them what you like about Ireland. But also tell them what you don't like, or are frustrated with. Being allowed the privilege of 'venting' truly helps.

3. Emerge Yourself in the Culture - a number of years ago, I met a Canadian who had moved here...and was miserable. He constantly complained about the country, and how much he missed home.

But was it any wonder? Turns out, as I got to know him more, that he never gave himself a chance. He never tried to make Irish friends. He never got out from his Dublin home to see the rest of the country and what it has to offer. He hung around only with other North Americans. In fact, I felt that he was living in a 'bubble'. So...what I always suggest is this: make some Irish friends! Get out into the culture of Ireland! Join some local clubs; volunteer for local organisations. Try your best to see the beauty that surrounds us here (when it's not raining, of course): the history and the hills, the fragrant colours of Ireland's hills and fields; the majesty of its mountains and cliffs. And critically, and a most welcome fact: the warmth of the people here.

Emigrating to any country is hard work, and can be emotionally quite stressful. A move of this type catalyses a roller-coaster of emotions. To survive - and emotionally prosper - in a new country, you need to devise a coping and support structure. You need to open your heart, and mind, and soul to what surrounds you. You need to recognise that you won't feel like a fish out of water forever. That as the days pass, you'll feel more and more comfortable in your new home. But that you will also suffer from the occasional day of greyness and seeming solitude when 'home' back wherever you come from looks so much better.

Hang in, is all I can say. Ireland is worth the effort.

For more information and stories about surviving Ireland, why not consider buying Tom's book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland? Simply click on that link.

Moving to Ireland

2009-06-22T10:33:00.000-07:00

Don't Pack the Ark Until You Know What to Bring

Well, what'cha know. It seems that I'm getting some followers. Which means, of course, that it's only nice to reply! First, an apology: it's been over a week since my last post. Things at this end have been frantic for one reason for another. And bound to keep up that pace for a bit. So if I'm a bit short on advice, or not as quick to respond as I'd like to, forgive me...

But onward.

First, a question from Nick who asks: I do have a general question...I'm in my last year of law school in California, any insight on American lawyers finding jobs in Ireland? Anyway, thanks for the blog and keep up the good work.

Tom says: Ummmm...short answer to your short question is: unlikely. But that's just because I'm not a lawyer (I do know a couple of lawyer jokes, but that's not going to help at all!), and so don't have a handle on what's truly required. In my ignorance of all things 'law related' I'd suggest that you simply Google "lawyer/jobs/ireland' and see what happens. I just did it, and a whole lot of links came up. Mind you, I have no idea what they really mean!

Do remember, however, that a whole lot of US companies have offices and service centres in this country. (Go to http://www.idaireland.com/search-companies.xml for a list of ALL 'foreign' countries based in Ireland). I suspect that each of those US companies employs somebody or other regarding their corporate legal affairs, and the interplay between the US and Irish corporate bodies. Anyway, you might start there. My first 'real' job here was with a division of Hyster, the fork lift company. I weasled my way into their marketing department. If I can do it so can you.

Now onto James's question. James (who became an Irish citizen through ancestry) is married to an American gal, and they plan on moving back to Ireland soon. He asks a question:

"My question is this... what sort of advice would you offer someone like me, as far as what to bring, what not to bring, etc. We will be renting a furnished place, so we are planning on packing very minimally. I have been informed that my wife shouldn't have any issues working since she is married to an Irish citizen. Do you know any info on this? I know we have to provide proof etc to get her a visa, but any addtl info would be helpful, as well as any other tidbits of info you might find useful. Thank you in advance for your help!"

My Answer: only bring along what is absolutely necessary. But DO make sure to bring:

* US Passport/US Birth Certificate

* PROOF from your Automobile Insurance company that you have driven at LEAST five years without an accident. Get that note on their letterhead, signed! You'll need it to get a 'No Claims Discount' from a car insurance company over here. By doing so, you can save up to 70 % on premiums. So don't forget it.

* Bring anything that's run on batteries, or via 'recharge' and that you want to use here. Laptops, cell phones, etc can be powered up using the 240 watts that we use over here via their charger (that charger should be able to convert from 240 to 110/120 - but look on the Charger! It should tell you!)

* If you bring said charger, but plug converters (see previous blog). They should be available at the airport. You can get them here but I think it'll cost less there.

* Bring CLOTHES, especially your good wife. Fashion here is DIFFERENT. It's European! She might not like it (but will hopefully get used to it). And clothing is - in general - less expensive in the US.

DON'T BRING!!!

Anything powered directly by 110 volt. So ditch, store, or give away: your hifi/radio/ boombox /iron/wild hand held mix master that you got for your wedding. Don't bring them because they won't work here UNLESS you buy a Transformer. And you don't want to do that. They are BEAST heavy, expensive, and horrible. I tried it: when I moved here, I brought along what then was a brand new Marantz Hi Fi component system. I LOVED the bloody thing. Then I went out and spent a fortune on a transformer that I couldn't afford.

The result? The Marantz was blown within a year, and I had to buy a new system - at extortionate prices. I should have given the thing to my sister then living in California. If I'd left it behind, she'd probably still be using it.

Hope that this helps, fellows! Onward!

For more advice on living in Ireland, you might consider a purchase of Tom Richards' book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland. Just click on that link!

Getting a Job in Ireland

2009-06-13T15:28:00.000-07:00

Re-wind to 1982: a wet-behind-the-ears Yank climbs off a flight, Irish wife and new born daughter in tow. His first impressions are positive: 'Hey, it's raining, but it sure is pretty. This shouldn't be too hard,' he thinks to himself.

'I have a degree! I'm an American. I have skills and experience! Surely, I can find a job pretty quick...'

Then a torrent of rain smacked him in the face, as if God was telling the poor slob that nothing in Ireland is ever easy. And, folks, God was right.

Getting a job back in the '80s was hard. I was out of work for six months. Mind you, the Ireland of the early '80s was in recession. Unemployment was high - almost 20 percent as I remember. Long queues of people stood miserably outside the local dole office (unemployment office, for those of you with a US persuasion) waiting for their unemployment cheques. The world of Irish unemployment was bleak indeed, and the last thing it needed was an unemployed Yank to add to its troubles.

But...and here's the good part...six months after I got off the plane I had a job (okay, it offered subsistence level pay, but what the heck. It was work!) Two years later, I had a better job (working for Hyster, the forklift company, on a new government backed project that they started here. I was still paid miserably - just slightly better - but it was a start on the Irish corporate ladder! Unfortunately, a few years later, they suddenly pulled the plug. I - as well as many others - were once again unemployed). And following that, I actually sucked it in and started my own business! Twenty seven years later, I'm still working for myself. And I never thought that I had it in me. Honest.

So. What do you do if, like me, you're a somewhat wet-behind-the-ears American who is determined to live - and work - in Ireland. Here are some suggestions.

The Requirements
If you're not an Irish national or EU citizen, qualifying to get a job in Ireland can be tricky. You need to have a skill that is not (technically) found in the country. You need to have a Work Permit and a Visa. It's a technical area. Click here for more information on Irish Work Permits. It's a whole area fraught with difficulties and new legislation (including a new Green Card scheme), but the bottom line is this: you need to have a prospective employer offer you a job before you can get a job. The Employer must help you to organise your Permit. That company also has the responsibility of paying the fee for that Permit. So aren't you the lucky one? First you have to have a skill that is in high demand in this country. Then you have to find an employer who loves you enough to fork out good money for a work permit. But that's the way it's done here, so start looking!

The Internet and Page Advertising
Ireland has many fine job-related Internet sites. Google 'finding a job in Ireland', and you'll invariably pull up some good ones. Do please sort of ignore www.fas.ie, however. This is a training and job support organisation for Irish (and EU) citizens. If you're not, you don't qualify.

Some of the good sites include Irish Jobs.ie, My Jobs.ie, and Monster.ie. However, there are many more, so spend some time and do your research.

But don't forget about the major national newspapers (many of whom have online editions - just Google them!) That list includes The Irish Times, The Irish Independent, The Irish edition of the London Sunday Times, The Examiner, The Sunday Post, and The Herald, to name a few.

Networking
If you're not getting anywhere on the Internet or in the papers, and assuming that - like me - you've come over on a wing and a prayer with the hopes of getting employment, then try this: Network!

Ireland is a nation of talkers. People here like helping others (assuming, that is, that you're a likable sort). Therefore, when you meet someone new, don't be shy. Tell them what you're trying to do. That you're looking for a job in your chosen field. Ask them to help. Ask them who they know that might know someone who might know somebody else that has a job opening. Take their name and phone number (and make sure you buy a mobile phone - a Cell Phone - to make certain they can contact you!) Give it a few days and ring them back. Gently pester them with your enthusiasm and professionalism.

Given enough time, you too could land that Irish job. Just look at me! When I came here I didn't know a soul. But I networked (and I must admit that I was never any good at it). One guy new another guy who knew a fellow, that knew an Uncle, who knew his first cousin. And that fellow knew about a small company in County Meath that needed the inexperience and brash enthusiasm of this newly-arrive Yank.

Remember, Ireland is populated by only 4 million souls or so. In some ways, it's a village. And for that reason, everyone knows someone else. So keep networking!

Start Your Own Business
I'm not going to run through how to write a business plan, or what constitutes a great business idea, or how to get finance for a start up. That's up to you, the would-be Irish entrepreneur. But what I will say is this:

Ireland is a country of shopkeepers and business people. Like their US cousins, Irish people love to own and manage their own businesses, and the country's economy is driven by small and mid-sized enterprises.

So if you want a challenge, now's your chance! Back in the '80s, I never ever thought that I'd own my own small business. Yet here I am.

Just Remember, We're in Recession
Yep, just like every other place in the world, Ireland is in recession. What's more, and based on what I've been reading, it seems that the recession here will be longer and deeper than elsewhere. That said, take heart! People here are still buying things; the economy is still turning over. To beat this, you just have to be dogged, persevere, and keep focused on your goal. If you want employment hard enough, you'll get it. Just keep trying!

For more information on how to Get a Job in Ireland, you might want to purchase my E-Book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland. Only 20 bucks! Cheap at any price!

Building a Business Nest in Ireland

2009-06-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

So. You've decided to come over. You're going to ride into the sunset and leave your present job. And you're intent on setting up a business in Ireland.

To do so, of course, you're going to need someplace to work out of. And if that's the case, be aware that you'll have a whole lot to choose from. Over the past 10 years or so, Ireland has seen a huge construction boom in commercial property, and that boom has affected the entire country.

Want a retail space in Cork? Looking for a serviced office facility in County Meath? Maybe you'd like to buy a complete office block. It's all here, ready and waiting. Good quality stuff, too. And the current recession has knocked thousands of euro off of prices, both purchase and leased.

And don't expect you'll be short changed if you decide to go this way. Ireland's commercial property sector meets stringent build standards. Often, buildings are now wired for bear with complete Cat 5 Cabling for Internet access. Many come with pro-active energy conservation elements allowing owners and lessors to save money on electricity and heating bills, while lowering the CO2 footprint at the same time.

If you're looking for a place to call home for your new business enterprise, Ireland has a lot going for it.

For more information, go to Daft.ie and try the Meath Property website.

Tom

How Do I Get Irish Citizenship?

2009-06-09T00:36:00.000-07:00

As you can imagine, a number of social networks are devoted to international travel and moving abroad. One of these websites, which I belong to, is http://www.expatexchange.com/. Recently, within the Forum on Ireland, a fellow threw out a general question:

Hi, I am new to this site, and I am looking to get some information on moving to Ireland. Some of the information I would like to get is, what are the requirement to get citizenship, (web sites, E - mail addresses ect.) Information on and how to on finding a job there, how to transport my motorcycle to Ireland, What I need and how to get a driver's license, information on the different areas of Ireland, (what places are good to move to.) Basicly I'm looking for the whole nine yards on this. I am looking to spend a year in the United States, then leave and move to Ireland. Any will help, thank you very much!!!

He (or she) has asked a whole lot of questions, many of which I've been asked before (mind you, the question regarding the motorcycle is a little out there!) While I'll answer this expectant person's questions at length in another write, here's how I answered, and I hope it may be of interest to others thinking of moving to Ireland:

"Hi, My name is Tom - originally from Chicago, but living in Ireland for the past 27 years. First, for more information that might help you, you might want to visit my blog: http://survivingireland.blogspot.com/. You've a number of Qs: too many to answer in this space, so I'll answer most of them in the blog. However, to answer your first question: Gaining citizenship in Ireland for non-EU nationals is difficult. If you are the son or daughter of an Irish citizen, or the grandson or grand-daughter of same, you have the legal right to citizenship. Go to Ireland's Department of Foreign Affairs for more information. If, however, you do not have such Irish ancestry, it may prove difficult. You could, of course, do what I did: marry an Irish lass! Citizenship can then be organised after a few years of residency here. I'll answer at length on my blog, above. Good luck! Tom"

I'm often amazed at questions of this type. The 'feeling' that I get from such Qs fill me with a certain level of concern for such folks: I get the feeling that many people think that getting Irish citizenship is easy. It is not! Unless you have Irish ancestry (as described above), getting citizenship can be a complicated and difficult process. This is due to a number of factors including a desire by the Irish government to protect jobs for indigenous Irish: fairly recently, new legislation was enacted that attempted to stem the tide of immigration.

The economic tide has turned now, of course. Unemployment is hovering at 10 percent, and is likely to go much higher before Christmas 2009. For that reason, it is likely to become even more difficult to become a citizen of the Irish Republic.

But take heart! In a next edition, I'll explain how you can use existing laws and opportunities to live in this land of constant rain. And now...I think I'll put on my hat and take a walk...in Ireland's rain swept summer!

Living in Dublin Ireland - Such a Choice!

2009-06-06T14:24:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago, I received the following post:

Hello Tom. I have just had the pleasure of reading your book 'A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland' and also your updated online edition. My wife and I found your insight to be extremely helpful as we plan our big move to Ireland from Orlando, Florida at the end of December. What areas within commuting distance to Dublin would you suggest for a family with two small children (ages 3 years and 6 months)? All the best,

Mike Walton

Mike, and to answer your question, fortunately you and your family have any number of options. In the 1980s, when I first came to these green shores, such options frankly didn't exist. The area surrounding Dublin was, yes, composed of suburbs, but access to Dublin could be time consuming due to the relatively poor infrastructure (roads and the like), and the choice of housing for either purchase or rent/lease was limited. Depending on how long you think you're going to stay here, schools and/or nurseries are also going to be a consideration.

But the situation has drastically changed since those early days of my immigration: now we have such a choice! And due to the current economy, housing prices (both rental and purchase) have descended dramatically.

Infrastructure and the Economy
The wealth generated during the Celtic Tiger Years, as well as grants and loans from the EU, positively affected both Ireland's infrastructure and its choice of housing stock. It was simple economics: as the country's economy grew, the wealth of its people increased. As disposable income, savings, and anticipated future wealth grew, demand for housing - and the types of houses for sale - also grew. Additionally, the government as well as private companies and private/public companies, began to develop the road network. When I came here, 4 lane motorways were unheard of. Today, Ireland is criss-crossed by an ever-growing network of Motorways.

The M50 (a 4 lane motorway circling Dublin), the M1 (providing an artery to the North), the M3 (currently under construction, but an artery from Dublin, north to my town of Navan, and eventually to Kells and beyond), the M7 (toward Limerick), and the M8 to Cork represent billion euro investments that have improved the lives of Irish motorists to no end.

In the process, these arteries have opened up many Dublin 'suburbs'. It's simple location theory: make it easier and quicker to get to a place, and watch the houses (and house prices) sprout like mushrooms. And along with the houses will come the rest of the infrastructure: improved telephone services, broadband, more schools, shopping centres and malls, restaurants - and traffic! We have much more traffic today (due to increases in car ownership) than we ever had.

While the current economy will invariably stifle new infrastructure development for a number of years, it surely is one hell of a lot better than it used to be only 20 years ago.

A Choice of Neighbourhoods
See the Google Pic above, but good value in quality homes and apartments - either purchased, leased, or rented - exist North, West, and South of Dublin. All you have to do is figure out what's important to you, what needs must be met, what kind of lifestyle you and your family want, and how much you want to pay (for a complete list of homes and other properties currently on the market, go to www.daft.ie. I am NOT an owner nor hold any interest in this website! So they owe me one...)

Do you want to live a life by the sea? Then to the South look at Bray or Greystones. Both are wonderful, smaller towns, only a few miles from Dublin (a friend of mine lives in Bray, and the M50 now makes it easier to get there). Both have fabulous seashores. To the North (just north of Swords on the map), try Skerries. That's a marvellous village: a small fishing town, boats nestle quietly at dock as you stroll along a seaside walk. The village itself is picturesque: a single main street, a few shops, pubs, and coffee bars, and wonderfully small estates of housing surrounding the entire village.

If you go further north, (north of Balbriggan - Baile Brigin), try Bettystown. Also along the coast, it's a wonderful small town.

Looking for something in the hills? Then again go south to County Wicklow. While much more expensive than other places, it offers exceptional housing, close communities, and wonderful walks through the hills.

Some of the places mentioned above are a bit 'remote' meaning that a shopping centre might be perhaps a half hour to an hour away. But all of these places offer the necessities: shops, schools, petrol stations, churches, pubs. And a welcoming people.

Okay, so suppose you would rather live in a larger town not too far away from Dublin, with closer access not only to the city but to local shopping centres and similar. Again, the choice is rather amazing, and depends on what you want.

Personally, and for my money, I'd look at County Cavan, and Virginia in particular. Again, it's a bit isolated - about 20 miles north of Navan (An Mhi on the map), and perhaps 35 miles from Blanchardstown Shopping Centre (Google Blanchardstown Shopping Centre - this has all the major shops), but this smaller town offers exceptional value for money, a lake, and much more. Bigger again? Then why not consider Navan? Good schools, easy access to Dublin, a shopping centre, the Boyne River, and a zillion pubs (or so it seems). Or perhaps Trim, about 8 miles down the road. This is a delightful town: the River Boyne meanders by Trim Castle (action scenes from Braveheart were filmed there a number of years ago); it has wonderful walks, good shopping, and a great choice of housing. Besides, a good friend of mine comes from there, so I'm biased.

Just north of Dublin is Lucan; again, a much larger, somewhat sprawling town that has seen exceptional growth. Or how about Maynooth, the home to National University of Maynooth? I'm once again biased because I lecture there. It's a wonderful little place: easy access to Dublin, lots of good housing and schools, leafy main streets, wonderful scholastic architecture, and a great Italian restaurant (I tried their ravioli only last week. Real Italian! The owners are from Rome!)

Go directly west from Dublin and you'll have all sorts of choices: Naas, Kill, Newbridge...the list goes on and on. Be a bit careful if you choose to go out this way. Some of the communities have been over-built, meaning empty housing, apartments and office blocks. Tallaght now has this problem, and it will take years to get back to something approaching supply/demand equilibrium.

I hope the above helps. The question you've asked makes me realise just how far this country has come in only a few short years. And it also makes me realise this: yes, right now the economy of this country is on its knees. But so it was in 1994. Then, this amazing miracle happened. I'm convinced that given the resilience of the Irish people, and with a little realistic political leadership, this miracle will recur.

Tom
(And Mike, thanks for the compliment about A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland. Honest, folks. I didn't pay him a penny! Click on the link for more information.)

Remembering Northern Ireland's Contribution to D-Day

2009-06-04T23:49:00.000-07:00

I finally made it back to Ireland. To get home I flew Orlando, Boston, Shannon, Dublin - 19 hours from curb to curb. Depending on where you're living, there are better ways of getting here. All I know is that a row boat probably would have been quicker.

The next few days are going to be frantic as I try to get my head around the piles of paperwork that lean like toppling mountains on my desk. However, tomorrow is a special day in some ways: June 6th and the 65th Anniversary of D-Day. Some of you may be aware that the Republic of Ireland and especially Northern Ireland had a roll to play in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Today, I'd like to briefly honour the memory of the many who may have sacrificed all that we can live in freedom.

(Pictured above: Harland & Wolf shipyard, April 1940, having been bombed by the Luftwaffe in the Belfast Blitz)

Ireland and The Emergency

The Republic of Ireland's role in WWII was limited. Then Taoiseach (Prime Minister) Eamonn De Valera held an isolationist view of global politics, and besides, the country's 'arch enemy' England could not be supported due to Ireland history of British colonisation. For that reason, and within Ireland, the War in Europe was not called WWII, but rather 'The Emergency', a title which even today's Irish historians often find a bit quaint.

Due to this stance, many Allied countries to this day view De Valera with a mixture of suspicion and anger. After all, and when he discovered that Hitler had commited suicide, he ordered a representative of the Irish government to immediately march to the German Embassy located in Dublin, there to sign the book of condolensces. Ireland was one of the few countries to do so.

That said, and despite its policy of neutrality in WWII, as well as the Irish people's sometime support of German ambitions, the Republic of Ireland often turned a blind eye to Allied activity, or actually facilitated Allied activities, that helped to turn the tide of the War.

While I don't have space to write a treatise, some examples of this include:

POW Treatment - German, British and American bomber pilots occasionally fell into the hands of the Irish. These POWs were often interred in Irish camps. Mysteriously, many of the American and British captives somehow managed to escape back to their Flights. On the other hand, German captives were held throughout the war.

Weather Reports - weather reports from the West Coast of Ireland made their way into Allied hands, a critical part of the planning for Operation Overlord (D-Day). Irish weather reports, indicating bad weather, helped Allied commanders to actually delay the D-Day landing by a day. Had Ireland not made these reports available to the Allies, D-Day might not have been as successful as it was.

Assistance to Northern Ireland - during the early days of 'The Emergency', Northern Ireland's capital city Belfast was bombed by the Germans in what was the 2nd worst aerial blitz on Allied soil in WWII. While it is often forgotten, this Blitz (occuring in April 1940) destroyed 50 percent of Belfast's housing stock in a massive conflagration. Despite its neutral stance, The Republic responded with fire tenders to help quench these flames of destruction. For its efforts, and when the Germans learned of this so-called treachery, Ireland was repaid by German Luftwaffe bombardments of Dublin City.

Northern Ireland - a Field of War
But if The Republic rendered some assistance to the War Effort, the people of Northern Ireland contributed mighty, and often heroic, resources to the defeat of Nazi Germany:

Pre-1941 - in the early days of WWII, bomber groups stationed in Northern Ireland including B24s (lent to Britain by the US) and Sunderland Bombers kept the North Atlantic sea lanes open through their sorties against German U-Boats. Their efforts allowed tonnes of materials to make their way to England. Had it not been for this effort, and had the supply lanes been cut, England possibly would not have survived until America's entrance into the War on Dec 7 1941.

January 1942 and the Staging Post - on January 24th 1942, only weeks following Pearl Harbor, a massive flotilla of US soldiers and materials landed in Northern Ireland. Here, those people - with the assistance of the Northern Irish - geared up to position that Northern province as a critical staging post for the defeat of Nazi Germany. What is interesting is this: despite America's neutrality prior to Pearl Harbor, it is obvious that this was a pre-planned activity, and undoubtedly agreed between Roosevelt and Churchill prior to America's official entrance into WWII.

Northern Ireland, the Allied Aerodrome - Northern Ireland quickly became a critically important supply and training location that fed the European Theatre of War with vital men and materials. Aircraft from the United States, including B17 and B24 bombers, P47 and P38 Lightning fighters, and similar equipment was flown or transported into the North. There, the aircraft were prepared for European operations. American, British, and Canadian pilots were trained in Northern Ireland. Aircraft manufacturing and ship repair facilities located in Belfast and Derry (Londonderry) helped to supply much needed materials to Allied efforts.

The men and materials transported into the North, and then on into England, helped to assist the US 8th Army Airforce in its daylight bombing efforts against Nazi-occupied Europe. This massive assistance in all probability helped to shorten the war. What is also interesting - and poignant - is the fact that accidents did occur. Today, you can find the graves of American fliers buried in the Province.

Belfast Harbor as a Staging Post for D-Day - meanwhile, thousands of American military (including Army and Navy personnel and materials) eventually assembled and trained in Northern Ireland. Belfast became a sort of immense Irish USO as they brought an American view to the country: Americans were everywhere in Northern Ireland, and invariably they handed out items that could not be found in the Province. Silk stockings, cigarettes, booze, and chocolates were particularly popular. I've had the privilege of meeting Northern Irish War Brides who married American soldiers. Bob Hope played to American and Northern Irish audiences, as did Glen Miller. For a number of years, love blossomed to the sounds of American Swing. Then, in 1944, a massive fleet began to assemble in Belfast Harbor. Troops were called from their training posts, ordered to board the many vessels that swamped the local waters. General Dwight D Eisenhower visited in mid-June of that year, wishing his troops luck. And a fleet destined for eventual victory sailed from those waters, bound for a remote French coastline, and many would never return.

Churchill, never a fan of Northern Ireland, stated categorically that if it had not been for the sacrifice of the people of Northern Ireland, the war would not have been ended as quickly. Today, no monument stands in Belfast to remember the thousands who died in the 1940 Belfast Blitz. Few remember that the German Battleship Bismark was spotted by an aircraft flown from Northern Ireland that led to its eventual sinking. Few remember that if it were not for Northern Ireland and its efforts to keep open the North Atlantic, Britain might have been defeated by Nazi Germany.

Few remember the courageous contribution that Northern Ireland and her people made to the War Effort. And few discuss the critical roll that Northern Ireland played in the implementation of D-Day, Operation Overlord.

On this 65th Anniversary of D-Day, I hope to remind us all of that sacrifice. And to those who are still alive, or who are the proud off-spring of those who participated so courageously, I would like to state my humble thanks for helping us in the fight for freedom.

Tom Richards
June 6th, 2009.

Home Again to the Rain

2009-05-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

I'm still in Florida and it's raining.

Standing outside an apartment block in Sun City Center, an older woman commented on the torrent as it fell from the thunderheads. 'I love this smell,' she said, watching as the water struck the Florida fir trees and the palms in fat droplets.

And with her comment, I was instantly transported three-thousand miles to a place very different from the Florida panhandle; to the rain-washed streets of Ireland, and to the smells that remind me of my home.

Rain in Ireland is mixed with a thousand different odours, and each of those smells takes me back to a particular season.

In the winter, Irish rain mists and billows, and walking through the streets of a small town, one can smell the peat that burns in warm grates, the fires nestled beyond thick walls. In the spring, Irish rain pelts from towering cumulus, and it is mixed with the fragrance of blooming heathers.

In the Summer, Irish rain falls softly from thick black skies; the humid days carry the odours of newly mown lawns and summer flowers. And in the Autumn, the cool rains again pelt from the skies, throwing the smells of decaying leaves into an atmosphere once again heavy with the smoke of peat and coal.

Rain reminds me of Ireland, but so do the smells of that place. They mix and blow, gently wafting into a walker's soul, carrying them on toward new seasons in a land that will always stay green.

Back in the US of A

2009-05-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I get a hankerin' for the Land of my birth and head back home. Right now, I'm writing from my father's apartment in Sun City, Florida. It's gorgeous outside: blue skies, temps in the mid-70s, strange species of Florida birds flitting from one sun-lit tree to another ... what a paradise!

Dad lives in Freedom Plaza, a retirement community just east of Tampa. Here, the average age seems to be north of 70. And when Dad introduces me to his co-residents, he usually starts the introduction with the obvious: 'And this is my son, Tom. Tom lives in Ireland.'

To which the response is usually a glazed look, followed by a moment of dis-belief, and then the inevitable: 'You live in Ireland?' 'Yes Ma'am,' I'll reply. 'And how long have you been there?' '27 years,' I'll state.

Invariably, I will then receive a look of absolute shock. 'You mean you don't live in America anymore?' 'No Ma'am.' 'Don't you want to come home?' 'No Ma'am. Well, sometimes maybe.'

This will be followed by a look of confusion tinged with a wee bit of suspicion. 'Don't you like your own country, young man?' And I know that no matter how much I might explain, my absense from America will always generate a certain level of mis-understanding and mis-trust among my fellow Americans.

If You Live Abroad, Many Americans Will Never Understand

If you plan on uprooting your existence to move to Ireland or anywhere else in the world, be prepared for a shock: many Americans that you know will never appreciate your decision. Be prepared for a certain level of mis-trust and skepticism. Be prepared for all sorts of accusations being leveled in your general direction, including my all-time favourite, that leaving America simply isn't patriotic.

Be prepared for silly, sometimes outrageous, thinking from others on why you've chosen to leave the country of your birth. Oh, you might tell people the honest truth: that you simply want to see how the rest of the world lives. Or you might acknowledge that you're interested in new cultures and a different way of thinking. But whatever reasons you might state, those reasons can be twisted by some, and a minority will invariably start a whispering campaign whose sole focus is to get to the bottom of your true reasons for leaving America:

'That Tom just never fit in. He's had to run away with his tail between his legs.'

'What's wrong with that fellow? Doesn't he realise that America is the best country on earth?'

'Good thing he left! He obviously hates America. The country is better off without him.'

And no matter what you say, or how you try to explain, a small minority will always view you with a certain level of derision, suspicion, and whispered dis-like. But take heart! You'll be living thousands of miles away. So you won't have to listen to it. Not all the time anyway.

But enough of the lesson. This morning, I accompanied Dad to Mass at the local Catholic Church. I was astounded to find that Mass here takes over an hour! In Ireland, Sunday Mass lasts only 30 minutes or so. I pointed this out to Dad, and had a handy explanation for the difference:

'I'm worried about you guys, Dad. Mass here takes twice as long as in Ireland. Must be due to the fact,' I said, with a twinkle in my eye, 'that the Irish are just that much holier than you folks here. They only need to pray half as long for the same result.'

Dad is pondering on this view, and I know I'll hear his counter-argument shortly.

For more stories on living in Ireland, you might like to try my book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland.

Staying in Touch

2009-05-15T01:40:00.000-07:00

Back in the early days of my stay in Ireland - way back in 1982 - staying in touch with my parents, sister and many friends back in the States was difficult and expensive. And for a number of reasons: the phone system in Ireland didn't work, long distance calls to the US were almost a buck a minute, and when we finally managed to get through, the connection might be interrupted at any minute by Mrs McGillikuty down the road who had inadvertently cut in on our conversation.

Fortunately, things have changed and for the better. Now, keeping in touch with kith and kin is flexible, inexpensive, and easy.

The Power of Irish Communications
First, let me make the point of saying that I am not involved with any of the companies that I'm about to recommend. I'm not a shareholder or an owner. I'm just a poor slob who's tried a number of different telecommunications systems, and based on my experience - such as it is - believe that these might offer a way of saving a few bucks.

Getting a Phone - if you're staying over here for a prolonged period, you might want to invest in a standard land line. Back in the 'old' days, getting a phone here was a journey into the unknown: phones could take up to a year to be installed, and that small piece of plastic and metal that would be connected to the outside world could cost up to one thousand bucks. Nonsense! But fortunately things have changed.

In Ireland, you now have a large choice of companies offering 'bundles' of products. Try any of these:

Eircom - this is Ireland's largest telecom company. The company offers a wide range of services including standard landline, broadband, wireless, and similar. The company has recently reduced costs significantly. Check them out.

Perlico - my 'preferred' supplier. I pay about 60 euro a month for a bundle that includes landline, broadband, and wireless. That monthly fee includes 'free' calls to both landline and cell phones (called Mobile Phones over here), but there's a limit to the number of monthly free calls. If you exceed that number, you're charged extra for it. Check out their website for more information.

Bundled Landline, Broadband, and Television - a number of companies now offer inexpensive bundles that contain these capabilities. Try BT or Google 'Television and Telephone Bundles in Ireland' for more information.

Long Distance - want to make numerous long distance calls for next to nothing but don't want to install VOIP on your laptop or PC? Then check out Blueface. Calls to the United States cost less than a euro cent a minute.

My 'Bundles'
Like most people, I wanted a telephone and television 'system' that would allow me to have a landline and broadband for the Internet, but that would also let me do so inexpensively. I also wanted access to Cable TV that would allow me to view the Irish television stations (RTE, TV3, and the Irish TV Station TnaG), the UK stations including SKY, and access to some US news stations such as CNN and Fox. So here's what I did:

1. Perlico - I use Perlico for my landline, broadband and wireless needs. That costs about 60 euro a month.

2. Blueface - I use Blueface to ring my Dad and anyone else I can think of who live overseas.

3. SKY - go to the link, but this company offers a wide range of products from about 30 euro a month.

Mobile Phones - in Ireland, mobile phones and bundles are offered by a number of companies including O2, Meteor, Vodafone, and 3. Personally, I use O2. But all of these companies are constantly changing rates in order to attract customers. Visit their websites for more information.

So happy talking! Today, doing so costs much less, for much less hassle, than ever.

Being Real...Almost, Anyway

2009-05-09T11:04:00.000-07:00

Just got back, folks. I've been away to the great town of Newcastle on business. For those of you who are a bit geographically challenged, Newcastle is a small city a few hundred miles north of London, located on the east coast of England, and just south of Scotland. The people are friendly, the beer is great, and the wind blows constantly. I've never been there before - and because this was a flying visit - I can't exactly say that I really visited the place. But I'll be back, I know it in my bones.

That's one of the pleasures of living over here. From Dublin, a whole lot of Europe is right at our doorstep. Climb on a boat and go to Scotland, England, or France. Climb on a plane, and the riches of Europe are within a couple of hour's grasp. Many Irish (those who still have money, anyway) have properties in Portugal, Spain, Greece, or Turkey. Not bad considering that only a few hundred years ago most were picking potatoes.

So back to the blog: while I was away I actually received a few visitors to the site. What'cha know: word is getting out about a mad American intent on spilling his guts about living in Ireland. Anyway, one of the messages was from 'Michael' (see the entire message on a separate post, if you'd care to), and Michael stated (explicitly): 'Tom, speak your mind! What is it that would have made you change your mind?' Michael was commenting on a comment that I had made to a previous post, to whit: 'I sure wish I'd visited for longer. I probably would have made a very different decision with my life.'

So what would that decision have been? If I could do it all again, would I change 27 years of my personal history, re-load my panniers, climb back on my bike, and pedal madly for my homeland?

Home is Where My Soul Is
Just over a year ago, I visited Bunratty Castle (way out near Limerick, just south of Shannon Airport) with my family. While I was there, I met this wonderful lady: an Irish woman, she had emigrated to the United States with her husband back in the early '60s. She's lived in Seattle ever since. That in itself was a coincidence, because I spent some time in Seattle when I was a boy, and as she talked about the place I felt my heart break a little bit.

'Do you like living in Seattle?' I asked. 'I always enjoyed the place. I went to St Philomena's School,' I continued, now getting a little choked up. 'That's just south of the airport, down near Des Moines.'

'Oh, I know that place!' she said. 'Right on the Sound. Sure, we go to Salt Water Park for picnics all the time.'

The fact that she knew the place made me feel even more upset. She must have sensed my distress. 'Are you all right?' she asked kindly. 'You miss it, don't you?'

I nodded. 'Sure you do,' she said gently. 'I still miss Ireland, even after all these years. I've lived in America for well over forty years now, and even after all that time I'd come home in a flash.'

'Why don't you?' I asked. 'Because,' she replied, her eyes tinged with a forlorn but understandable sadness, 'my heart would break in two. You see, all my family live in America now. My sons, my grandchildren...if I came home, I'd miss them terribly.'

And she touched my heart because I knew that I felt the same way.

Emigrating is hard work. Nobody says much about that, but it's true. Oh, you can complain about this and that: about the differences in culture and misery of the weather or high taxes. You can bask eloquently about the wonderful things of life that keep you on in a 'foreign' country: the good schools, the great people, the feeling of being somewhat 'different' and the knowledge that you have marched to a different drummer.

But...then there's this one fact that is irrefutable: you are not a true citizen of that country. Oh, you might eventually get your passport, of course, so you are - de jur, as the law says - a citizen. But your heart might not be quite as binding as the law.

See, there's this problem. When you're away from home as long as I've been, you realise a truth: you are what you are. You are what you lived. You are what you've been taught.

I'm an American at the end of the day, and immensely proud of it. I'm proud of my heritage and my people. I'm immensely proud of the fact that my people fought in the civil war and revolutionary war and helped to settle the Ohio Valley. I'm proud of the fact that my great-great-great....father was the first governor of Plymouth. I'm proud of all that, yet I'm not there....

...and I will never go home. Not now. And not for six very good reasons: two daughters, a son, two grandsons, and a good Irish wife. Oh, make that seven reasons. A dog, Rocky, who wouldn't be content living anywhere else.

I don't always feel like I do right now, typing as I am, thinking of Michael's admonishment to speak my mind. Right now, I'm homesick, to be frank about it. I miss things: I miss a good hot dog. I miss seeing the Cubbies play, even if they never win the World Series. I miss people that don't think I talk in a funny accent because I talk they way they do.

I miss 4th of July fireworks (I combat that by being the only guy on my block to fly Old Glory on Independence Day). I miss Thanksgiving (even though my wife combats that by making me an absolutely stupendous dinner every 4th Thursday of every November). I miss watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, and Jello that comes out of a box and has to be made up, and root beer, which a fellow can't get at all over here.

I miss America. I miss Americans. And I feel like this sometimes simply because no matter how long I'm away, or how hard I try to fit in, I'll always be an American. It's as simple as that.

Nobody told me that I'd feel this way when I came over here so many years ago. Like the Irish lady that I met in Bunratty, and who is invariably still living in Seattle, all I can tell you is this: if you decide on coming to Ireland, or live anywhere else in the world, you will take your country with you in your heart, wherever you might roam.

And that can be the hardest work of all because sometimes it will break your heart.

So thank you, Michael, for your comment. You've made me consider. And in writing this, I feel better, because I know that however long I might be away from home, my home is also with me. It's with me in the form of my kith and kin, both here and in the United States. And it's with me because I will always be proud of being an American.

That's also in my heart. And it is something that can never be torn from me.

You're Moving to Ireland. Now What?

2009-05-04T04:11:00.000-07:00

A few years back I was flying home to Ireland, having visited my folks in California. We made a pit-stop in Boston, and with a couple of hours to kill, I wandered down to the gate intent on getting some work done.

I took a seat in the packed departures area and took out my various notes and got to work. But I couldn't help noticing a good looking gal sitting across the aisle from me. She had a map of Ireland in hand, and studied it as intently as if she was hoping to find the Lost Treasures of the Sierra Madre.

Funny thing, maps. Those small pieces of paper (and in these days, internet images) hold so much more than directions and geography. Often, they'll hold a host of dreams, expectations, and future wishes that seldom match reality. When I first came to Ireland, back in 1980, the Ordinance Survey map that I used (and which I still have stuffed in a drawer someplace) was much more than a hodge-podge of roadways. Rather, it was my key to adventure. Do I turn left or right? Do I go north or south? As some of you know, I turned north, and when I made what I felt to be a somewhat innocuous decision, my life changed forever. Therefore, and since that decision over 20 years ago, I've viewed maps with a fair bit of suspicion.

Anyway, sitting in Logan Airport, watching that good looking gal study her map with such...such...intensity, I couldn't help but feel my curiosity rise. 'Are you going to Ireland?' I asked, and felt a fool. She's sitting at an Aer Lingus gate. Where did I think she was going? But she never batted an eye. Obviously, she had been hoping someone would ask.

Bursting with enthusiasm, the details of her impending adventure gushed forth from her innocent lips: 'I'm from Toronto and I'm flying to Ireland and I'm meeting my Irish boyfriend and we're buying a house together and then in a year we're getting married, and isn't life just amazing.'

I blinked. 'Have you been to Ireland before?' I asked innocently.

'No,' she said.

'Oh,' I replied. Big mistake, I thought. And as it turned out, I was correct.

If You're Planning on Living Here, Visit the Place First
Many North Americans think that they understand Ireland, even though they've never been here before. Maybe it has to do with the fact that so many North Americans are descendants of immigrants from the Auld Sod. Maybe it's because Ireland occupies a sort of mystical, mythical, mysterious - yet comfortable - position in most people's psychie. Maybe it's because the Irish have been so successful at marketing their culture throughout the world that North Americans think they know the place.

Let me tell you something: even if you think you know and understand Ireland, you don't. Take my word for it. It's just not possible. Yes, the Irish speak English just like most North Americans do (some of them, anyway). And yes, the Irish truly are some of the most hospitable people on the planet. And yes, the Irish watch television and go to films and eat and drink just like you possibly do. But right there, the similarity stops.

Ireland is not Peoria Illinois. And if you don't believe me, then take note:

Ireland possesses a different culture and a different history - they may talk in English (and, if you're lucky, sing-song Gaelic), but the history of this country has influenced its people and its cultural fabric. Therefore, Ireland is different than North America.
They drive on the other side of the road - they drive on the left hand side over here. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but wait until you try it.
They have a different form of government - which can drive a person from the United States to distraction, if you're not careful.
They eat differently - yes, we now have McDonald's and Burger King over here, but the cullinary tastes of most Irish people are different from North America.
The Irish conduct relationships differently - here, if you ask someone to make a firm decision (for instance, and in business, if you ask him/her to hire you) a 'Yes' may mean 'Maybe', and a 'Maybe' might mean a 'No'.

Ireland is different. It's a different people, a different culture. The roads are different. So are the phone systems. So is the health system, and taxes, and the process of buying a house.

Therefore, when I hear about some poor person who has made the immense decision of moving here without even having bothered to visit the place first, my immediate reaction is to say: 'Hold everything! If you were going to buy a car, would you test drive it first? Then why not visit Ireland before you commit your lifetime to it?'

That's my advice, anyway. And it's based on half a lifetime of thinking about it.

As to the woman I met in Boston: as it turned out, I kept in touch with her after she arrived. She lasted just short of one year. Today, and as far as I know, she's back in Toronto, making a new life for herself.

For more information, you might try reading A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, a few stories about my own mad mistakes in living here.

What's that Orb in the Sky?

2009-05-03T01:29:00.000-07:00

In March it was raining as usual. Big fat drops, little skinny drops, drops of all descriptions, and all of them seeming to have my naked head as their target. As I hurried along the main street in my small town of Navan, doing what I could to keep the trickling mess of water from pouring down my jacket collar, I felt that I was on God's wet shooting range. I imagined that He was nicely settled in a duck blind of some type or description, cup of tea at His elbow, smiling down at earth, and with me in his sights. 'Ah-hah!' he was saying coyly. 'There's Richards. The poor slob thinks he's going to get away with it. Ah, look at him! Hurrying toward that cozy looking dry spot underneath that Oak Tree there.' And God took aim, and the heavens opened, and wouldn't you know it but I reached that Oak Tree soaked to the skin.

I've always mentioned that it rains all the time in Ireland. It rains so much that we've moth-balled our Factor 15, and know that we'll only experience sun when we finally get up and pay out large money to get to France or Greece or Orlando, or those other warm and sunny spots that lie across the globe, just out of reach.

Discussing the weather is something that you must become adept at if you plan on visiting here. In Ireland, the weather is a constant source of conversation. We begin discussions with it and end discussions with it. At times, the state of our Irish climate can become the topic of serious conversation. For instance, my neighbour Phil, a good guy who works for the Prison Service, will be outside attempting to cut his lawn between showers. I'll walk out to study the sodden state of affairs, wondering how in God's name the poor man is going to plough his lawnmower through the sodden green mass confronting him.

'Fecker,' Phil will say, as he starts the mower for the hundredth time. 'Bloody hell,' he'll state as it bogs down again in the tangled mess of overgrowth. 'Feck it!' he'll finally yell as he abandons the mower to the elements and heads inside. Then he'll notice me standing there, watching him. 'Have you seen the weather report?' he'll ask. 'Rain,' I'll state. 'Feck it to hell. I'll cut it tomorrow.' And Phil will go inside for a well deserved cup of tea.

As I say, it rains incessently, and at times even the best of us get fed up with the whole business. Suicide can sometimes seem a better option, especially in the Spring, when you've already managed to get through five months of rain, and truly believe that the sun just has to shine. But then you know that you're fooling yourself, and know that it's probably going to rain until at least June. Or maybe July or August or September. But then Autumn will be here, and the whole bloody cycle of rain will start all over again.

Of course, there are times when it doesn't rain. On those occasions - which can last even two whole weeks! - it seems that God has gone on holidays and forgotten to reload his rain machine. What happens is this:

We'll be standing in our living room, my good wife and I, and all of a sudden the rain will STOP. Suddenly, the grey mass of cloud will lift a bit, and the two of us will stare hopefully at each other. 'Do you think?' she will say. 'No,' I will reply. 'It's a joke. Don't get your hopes up.'

And then we'll notice it. Rays of sunlight! We'll run out into the yard, staring up at the glowering clouds, sunlight whisping hopefully around their edges. Around us, all of our neighbours will have lined the paths, all of us staring upward as if watching an aerial display. Our mouths will open with hope, agape as the clouds continue to part. Then someone will see it first.

'There!' Phil might say as the clouds part. 'What's that golden orb in the sky!' And cries of ooh's and ahh's will rise to the heavens as the warmth of that long-lost star streams upon our pates.

The sun does shine in Ireland. It's just that when it comes out, it takes most of us a while to recognise it. But take heart! 'Sunshine' is honestly a part of Ireland's vocabulary after all.

You Can't Fit a Round Peg into a Square Box

2009-04-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

I recently read a quick plea for help from an American who is soon planning to move to Ireland. In the message, she states that she and her husband are moving to Cork; that she wants to bring her outdoor grill, but isn't sure if her 'propane tank' will work over here; and she signs off, 'Also, I have this fear that there will be "something" that I should have brought and can't find there. Any suggestions?'

Well, let me see. First about the propane. Don't bother bringing it along, was my reply. The fittings in America are different from the fittings here. 'Bottled Gas', as it's called in Ireland, comes in a variety of bottle sizes, and with a variety of fittings. The best thing to do is get new 'propane' when you get to this side of the Pond. Besides, it might explode in transport, if you brought it along. That's the sort of excitement that you might not want to experience.

Things are Different Over Here So Get Used To It

But what really got my interest was her query regarding what else she should bring, that 'something' that she mentions. Initially, I should have thought that she might bring a million bucks or so and I would have gladly helped her spend it. But there are some things that the earstwhile traveller to Ireland should know about before coming here:

You're Visiting Ireland, Not Antarctica - we have almost everything you can think of over here these days: from the latest technology to the most humdrum hair accessory. That's a pleasant change from when I first came here. Back in 1982, there were so many things that simply weren't available: from peanut butter to working telephone systems, the country was somewhat hard pressed back then. But remember that now, in the post-Celtic Tiger Ireland, this country is still one of the most prosperous in the world. Even if it's not quite as prosperous as it used to be. And it has a wide range of almost anything you can possibly think of to make your stay comfortable.

It's a Different Voltage System so Leave Your Electronics Behind - Ireland runs on 220 volts. America runs on 110 volts. If you bring along your hair dryer and plug it into a 220 volt system, you'll get more than curls in your hair let me tell you. And while I'm discussing electronics, and if you insist on bringing over those latest bits of technology, don't forget to bring a plug converter. We use 3 pin plugs over here. 2 pin into 3 pin just doesn't go. Most laptops allow charging with both 220 and 110 volt systems, so your laptop should work just fine in Ireland.

Food - remember that you're moving or visiting a different country and culture. Things are different here. And that's part of the charm. But I must admit that even after so many years away from home, I still miss certain bits of American foodstuffs: Bisquick (yes, they have pancake mix over here, but it's not the same), maple syrup, peanut butter (I can get it now, but it's not quite the same as my old Jiff), bread and butter pickles...the list goes on and on. Of course, if I REALLY miss something that bad, I simply pick it up when I'm home visiting Dad.

Don't Forget to Bring Your US Driver's License and Your Car Insurance Policy - if you're going to live here, you're going to want to drive here. And to drive here you need a licence and insurance. Car insurance in Ireland is expensive. But if you can bring proof that you have driven for 5 years or more without a claim on your policy, you can reduce your insurance premium by well over 50 percent. It's called a 'No Claims Bonus' and you'd do well to look into it. So before you jump on the plane, make sure you contact your car insurance company for a letter that categorically states that you've never had an accident.

Do the above and you'll have a much better time when you get here. But do also remember that you're coming to a different country, with a different people and a different way of life. No, Ireland will not be the same as the US or any other country, come to think of it. And that's what's special about Ireland. So rather than worry that you might have forgotten something, just come on over and experience Ireland like the Irish do.

Do that and you'll have a wonderful time. Frustrating, perhaps, but it's a joyous experience that you'll not soon forget.

Thinking of Visiting Ireland? Now's the Time!

2009-04-22T06:16:00.000-07:00

I just read an article about visiting Ireland. The headline, 'The Emerald Isle - Ireland - is calling to You,' written by one Joy Crutchfield, was published in the McAlester News-Capital, apparently one of the only US newspapers still being published (they must still do their reading in Southeast Oklahoma - for a complete copy of the article, click here).

Joan makes a great case for the ever-increasing value of visiting Ireland right now. Hotels, restaurants, and almost everything else that's tourist related are tripping over themselves to do some deals. And that means that prices are falling like a brick.

For instance, Joan quotes a self-drive package that seems to include hotel stays in Waterford, Killarney, Limerick, Galway and Dublin for a mere $789. Mind you, and because it's a self-drive package, and if you're from the States, you'll have to get used to driving on the other side of the road. But that's another matter.

However, play it really smart and you could enjoy a few days in Ireland for a very few bucks. With any luck, the summer sun will decide to show its head, which means that you'll avoid being rained on.

Getting Here

Depending on where you live, you might first check with your local travel agent in that 'packaged' holidays are becoming less and less expensive. Which means, of course, that travel to and from Ireland is thrown in as part of the total cost. The downside, of course, is that your idea of what you'd like to see must exactly match someone else's itinerary. If you're more adventurous, however, you might decide on a DIY holiday strategy. So check out a couple of airlines for direct (or almost direct) flights into Ireland from the United States and much of the rest of Europe. These include, but are not limited to, Aer Lingus, Swiss Air, American Airlines, US Airways, Continental, Delta, and many many more. (For a complete list of airlines that fly to/from Ireland, and various accommodation strategies, see A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland).

Then Stay Here Inexpensively

Want to sample some real Irish living? This country has thousands of inexpensive - yet delightful - bed & breakfasts. They're dotted all over the country, and many proprietors will even provide you with a welcoming cup of tea. For a comprehsnvie list of B&Bs, check out the following websites:

http://www.bedandbreakfastireland.net/

http://www.townandcountry.ie/

http://www.familyhomes.ie/

http://www.goireland.com/

Prices run from about €35 per person sharing (much less expensive than even a year ago), but those prices are influenced by season, location, and B&B quality. As the name says, breakfast is included in the price, however. And Irish breakfasts are something that you'll never forget: Irish sausages, back rasher, mushrooms, beans, an egg, toast, brown bread, and the scrumptious pot of tea. Enough to keep you going for most of the day, and just yummy!

Renting a Car
While Ireland has a fairly decent (if expensive) bus and rail service, you'll want to rent a car to travel to places off the beaten path. If you're of a mind, try your hand at driving on the left hand side of the road by renting your own powered transport. Most international car rental companies are located in Ireland (Avis, Hertz, Budget and similar), but just Google 'Car Rental Ireland' for comprehensive lists. Car rental costs have plummeted in Ireland. For instance, Budget Rent a Car is advertising an economy 2 door for 1 week at €79, not including insurance. Petrol (or diesel, depending on your car) is expensive here: about 3 to 4 times the cost of a gallon of US gasoline. But Ireland is a small country, so you're not going to break the bank.

Where to Go
Now that completely depends on your sense of adventure, and what turns you on. I'm a nature and seaside freak, so my favourite ports of call include Counties Cork, Galway, Sligo, Mayo, and Donegal. Each of these counties has something special to offer: exceptional vistas, wonderful towns, great people, and some extraordinary memories when you get home from it all.

I particularly enjoy the Aran Islands. Located off the coast of County Galway, these three islands (Inis Mor, Inis Meain, Inis Oirr) are simply heavenly: cliffs, landscapes of rock, and a hale and hearty people that are simply delightful. While you're there, you'll perhaps pick up a few words of Gaelic (spoken by the locals). Mind you, it's a tough language - after 27 years living here, I think I can say 'Teacher, milk, water, and sugar' in the Irish. And that's about it.

To get to the Aran Islands, go to Galway City and keep heading west. Drive on to Rossaveal (still in County Galway, and not quite yet to Connemara), and look for the ferry signs. For more information on the Aran Islands go to http://www.aranislands.ie/. And for more information on visiting Ireland, try the Bord Failte website: www.failteireland.ie/

Enjoy!

Gardening Irish Style

2009-04-20T04:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit it. I'm getting to that age where the thoughts of spending a day tending the garden (or "yard" as my American father describes it) rather thrills me. While I might have thought otherwise a few years ago, these days getting down and dirty in the Irish muck is rather comforting. It's a twist that suits my balding head and failing ego, I'm sure.

Gardening anywhere in the world has its good points and bad. But gardening in Ireland is a no-brainer. Usually, the process goes something like this:

Go to the Garden Centre

Buy Assorted Plants

Dig hole in Garden

Push in Plants

Water

And voila! The darned things grow. It must have to do with the rich soil over here, but it seems that I have to work at it to kill anything. And this from a guy who didn't know his petunia from his iris only a few years ago.

Planted in a Nourishing Land
Come to think of it, growing almost anything in this country is a pleasure. From plants to relationships to personal growth, it seems that Ireland is a place that nourishes those transplanted from afar.

Right near to where I live, situated along the Boyne River, grows a mighty redwood tree. Redwoods are not, of course, indiginous to this country. But this fellow - well over 100 feet tall I expect - grows here anyway. Its tall majesty stands surely along the gently flowing river, and if I grow weary of living as an ex-patriate in this country, I venture down to see that tree.

It has had time to root firmly into the soil, and its great limbs act as a home for a whole range of critters: everything from assorted insects to squirrels. When I'm feeling lousy - and ex-patriates do now and again: it's part of the process of being so far away from home - I'll walk down to that huge North American immigrant and know that if it can survive here for so long, then perhaps I can too. I'll take shelter under its welcoming form, and for a moment look out along the Boyne and listen to the river's strength, and know that the tree rooted there for a reason, knowing perhaps that Ireland would nourish it for an entire lifetime.

And in that moment, I know that I have let Ireland re-nourish me too. And I'll pat the trunk of the tree, and nod in the direction of the whispering river, and go home refreshed.

The Haunting Stillness of Ireland

2009-04-17T01:29:00.000-07:00

Every year, or more often depending on my disposition and bank account, I'll travel back to the United States to visit my father. He lives in the Tampa area, and I'm always astonished by the transition from one geography to another. Obviously, the sun is a welcome sight (I'm always astonished by that small warm orb due to the fact that I haven't seen it in months), and it's always nice to slouch around a swimming pool with an ice-cold glass of tipple in my hand. I should explain that in Ireland, most establishments don't serve drinks with ice. Or if they do, the bar-keep will place exactly one cube in the glass, as if ice were as valuable as gold bullion, and look astonished when I ask for more. So I'll sit at the side of a sun-kissed swimming pool, tinkling my ice fondly between sips, and wondering why I left America in the first place.

But then I'll hear it. The noise. It will infiltrate over the hedge surrounding the pool, and make its way to my sun-soaked ears: the noise of traffic from the far-off super-highway; the noise of aircraft descending into Tampa International; the noise of wailing sirens, piercing my somewhat drunken reverie and waking me to the reality of living here.

And I'll remember what I have in Ireland, and what it offers: of the peace that is there for the taking, and which is absolutely free of charge every day that I choose to stay here.

That Haunting Peace

Sitting in that Tampa sun chair, choosing to ignore the frantic sounds of close-by civilisation, I'll think back to the walks that I've taken in Ireland and the places that I've been and the quiet people that I've met. I'll think back to the time that I stood alone on a golden Donegal beach, a cooling breeze kissing my cheek, gazing out on a deserted landscape. The sea lapped quietly nearby, and the only other sounds were the far-off haunting cries of hunting sea birds, and the thin whistling of the wind as it shifted through tall sand grasses.

I remember that time, only a few years ago, as a time of hardship: my mother had passed only months earlier. But in the beautiful silence of that place, I could easily remember her. I could remember her smile and gentle laugh and glittering eyes and the song that would come so easily to her lips, and my memories were uninterrupted by the frantic sounds of what we so often call living.

White cumulus dotted the sky above me, driven inland off the sea as I stood there. And for a moment it rained, the drops cold on my cheek, washing away my tears with their gentleness. I remember sighing then and feeling somehow cleansed, and thanking God for the memory of my mother and for the haunting stillness that surrounded me and that gave me the space to remember her.

Back in Tampa, my eyes opened as I heard the renewed wailing of a siren, and the memory was shattered. I finished my drink, threw the ice into the grass, and walked back to my father's home.

But as I walked, the memory of that haunting Irish silence came back to visit me, and gave me peace, and I thanked my stars that soon I would go back to Ireland, and to the silence that is so freely given to all of us who live here.

It Rains in Ireland. Honest!

2009-04-16T00:48:00.000-07:00

A number of years ago, my good Irish wife and I were on a short holiday out to the West of this country. As I remember, we ended up in County Donegal, amid rolling hills and breathtaking mountains, and when - after a long stroll - it began to rain, we decided to take shelter in a local hostelry.

'Let's duck in here,' I said to my wife. 'We'll get out of the wet and have a pint at the same time.' She was more than agreeable, so that's precisely what we did.

The small bar room was packed with tourists, as it turned out. And most of those tourists happened to be fellow Americans. I sidled up to the bar and bought a couple of pints. Then as I waited for my Guinness to settle, a woman from California made her way up to me. She was soaked to the skin; her hair was a matted mess. Water dripped down her face. I handed her a bar towel.

'Do you live here?' she asked me as she dried her face.

'Well, I live on the other side of the country, out in County Meath. That's about 200 miles from here.'

She eyed me suspiciously for a moment. 'You don't sound Irish.' 'I'm not,' I said. 'I'm an American. But I've lived here for some time now.'

'You have?' Pretty eyes rolled in her head. 'But why? We've been here for ten days. Look at it outside.'

I looked. It was raining. Torrenting. A true wash-out as the wet pelted from the Irish Heavens.

'It's raining,' I said, matter-of-factly.

'I can't stand this!' she stated. 'It rains all the time here. It's rained every day since we came over. Doesn't it ever clear up? How can you possibly stand it?'

I sighed. 'You know how Ireland is green?' I asked. She nodded. 'Well, if it weren't for the rain, it wouldn't be green.'

She didn't accept this as an explanation. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched from the bar, undoubtedly to try to book an early flight home.

It Rains in Ireland
If you're thinking of coming to live here, or stay for a prolonged visit, you might as well get your head around one simple fact: it rains in Ireland. It does not rain all the time (contrary to some people's misconceptions) but it rains enough, let me tell you.

It rains in big drops, little drops, and drops in between. It rains in fine mist. It rains in torrential downpours. It rains in the morning, the afternoon, and at night. Being on the western seaboard of the European Continent, with only the Atlantic beyond, Ireland gets its fair share of lousy weather. Huge storms, little storms, gales, deep low pressure areas, and swaths of grey grimness can make their way across the sea and sweep Ireland into a wet obscurity.

But take heart. All is not lost. For one thing, there's nothing finer than to take a long walk on a nice soft day. By 'soft', the Irish mean a day full of gentle misting wetness, when the world seems swathed in damp cotton and sound travels hardly at all. On days like this, I wrap up tight, put on my UCLA baseball cap, and walk along the Boyne River, near where I live.

It is so quiet! Just the dripping of the wet from the leaves of the tall trees. Swathes of dark clouds hunker down over the world, and for a moment I feel alone and comforted, as if I was held by a Being much larger and more interesting than I will ever be.

I walk slowly through the quiet taking everything in: the dark swooshing of the big river that flows next to me; the ducks and swans that nest along its edge; the wet sponginess of moss covered trees; the soft rain trickling down on my upturned face, tickling me as it wends its way down my neck. And for a moment I am alive and at peace.

It rains in Ireland, that's for sure. But rain is also life, and in its soft majesty - and if you listen to the silence - you too just might find peace.

But if you can't, then you can pack your bags, book an early flight, and go home just like the lady from California did. God bless her.

(For more stories on living and surviving in Ireland, see my book - A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland)

What's Older than the Pyramids?

2009-04-14T11:59:00.000-07:00

So when I arrived here, well over twenty-five years ago, I was walking through the small village of Navan where I called (and still call) home, soaked to the skin with Irish rain. Being an American, I had never been terribly interested in things of antiquity: in the States anything older than a Beatles LP is considered beyond redemption and immediately burned to the ground or - as the famous lyrics state - turned into a parking lot. Consequently, most Yanks think that the far side of 'old' might just be the age of their grandparents. But they're dead and gone, which proves that 'old' doesn't have much going for it.

Or so I thought. My first impressions of Ireland - back in 1982 - didn't exactly do much to change my opinion of 'old'. At that time, my small village was sadly in need of extensive repair. The entire town needed a fresh coat of paint, as well as a visit by any Road Repair Crew that needed a challenge, so poor were the potholed roadways.

Of course, being an ignorant newly arrived immigrant, I did what any fool would do. I opened my mouth and immediately put my foot in it.

'These buildings,' I said to a local, 'isn't somebody going to do something about them? Knock them down, perhaps, or at least put them out of their misery?'

'What's wrong with the buildings?' the local replied, doing his best not to lash out with both clenched fists, thereby putting one poor American out of his misery. 'Do you think they look poorly?'

'Sure,' I replied. 'It's just that they're so old!'

And he laughed. 'Lad, this is nothing. If you want to see old, and I mean very, very, very old, take your car to Newgrange. Now that's old.' And he turned on his heel and left.

The Truly Magnificent Old
Intrigued, I took the fellow's advice. I climbed into my car, drove about ten miles east of Navan, and beheld something almost beyond description.

Newgrange is a megalithic tomb, or so many describe it. But it is more...much, much more. Older than the Pyramids, it was built well over 5000 years ago. At the time, the engineers and builders in question didn't have the benefit of state of the art technologies. Nor did they have diggers with giant diesel engines in them. Instead, they had a vision of the spirtual and the astrological that is awesome to behold. And they had assorted people of the same mind who all had strong arms, and so they did what most people used to do: they got stuck in and built it. And what they acheived ranks right up there with the best examples of human endeavor.

Visit Newgrange and see for yourself: it's thousands of pearl white quartz stones cover one side of what looks like a Monty Python-esque image of a flying saucer. Intricate carvings cover many of the precisely placed stones that form the perimeter of the Monument. The alignment of the entire site is unusual in its links to the astral seasons: the Roof Box points precisely to the rising sun of the Winter Solstice; the welcoming rays of light - the light of the shortest day of the year - infiltrates down through the Roof Box, lighting an internal chamber, thereby signifying the hope of longer days to come.

It is old. Older than anything that I had ever laid eyes on. Certainly older than my grandparents.

If you're in Ireland, make certain that you put Newgrange - as well as the rest of the Boyne Valley - on your itinerary. The Irish have a different view of old. Just because it's old doesn't mean it has to be knocked down. Not yet, anyway. Which is one of the joys of living in Ireland:

Just because something is old, doesn't mean it's past its sell-buy date.

A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland - New Edition Available!

2009-04-09T05:11:00.001-07:00

The New, Rewritten, Up-To-Date Version of A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland is Now Available!

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to write what I hope is a fun, interesting, and fairly informative book on living in Ireland. The book, A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland, has done rather well, I'm proud to say. So much so, that the publisher - escapeartist.com - asked me to revise that small tome.

The Revision is now available! So to all of you who desire to live, work, or visit here, I hope that this book (now well over 250 pages) might prove of interest. It's available by clicking this link (and for only 20 bucks): A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland.

By the way: any feedback very much appreciated!

And a Quick Summary of what you'll find in the Book:

Major Topics

In A Survivor’s Guide to Living in Ireland, author Tom Richards outlines the real facts about moving to and living in this country including:

The Cost of Living Here
Ireland’s ever-changing housing industry: where and what to buy. When Richards moved there, he bought a house for just over $15,000. While housing costs had increased substantially during the Celtic Tiger years, they are now falling fast and are less expensive now than they have been in years. Perhaps you too can own a thatched cottage within earshot of a babbling brook. Richards shows you how.

Work Permits
That elusive work permit: how to get one. Did you know that you will have to get your hands on a work permit to be allowed to work? Richards lets you in on the secrets of obtaining one for yourself.

Getting a Job
Making a living in Ireland: unless you have a rich Uncle, you probably have to work for a living. Celtic Tiger Ireland added an entrepreneurial spirit to this country, and small businesses drive Ireland’s economy. Richards gives an on the ground analyse of and the opportunities that are available in its modern, fast-paced economy, even in current market conditions.

A Health System to Die For

The virtually free Medical System: Ireland has socialised medicine, one that won’t strip away your retirement nest egg if you happen to get sick. Richards gives you some examples of its incredible entitlements.

The High Quality of Education
A School and University system to die for: the author’s three children have all grown up with the benefit of a system with which Richards has fallen in love. His glowing but realistic account illustrates how your offspring can also benefit from what he considers to be one of the best school systems anywhere.

The Wonders of Living in Ireland and the
Reality of Being an Immigrant

Few expats write of the sometimes-difficult transition faced by immigrants. But Richards does. As he says, “…move here and the odds are that you’ll never go back. I say this because it’s something to think about before you choose the path of immigration, and it’s an issue that I find is rarely discussed. ‘Immigrating is hard work. It can be an emotional roller coaster out of which few emerge unscathed.

But something magical happens when a person moves here. Despite all of the difficulties of immigrating to this country, Ireland seems to root itself into the very fabric of your being. And once the roots have become established it’s very difficult to shake yourself loose.”

Due to ever-increasing demand for this E-Book, A Survivor’s Guide to Living in Ireland has been substantially revised and expanded. This 2009 edition is now bigger, more entertaining, and more valuable than ever before. With well over 200 pages of humour and insights, this book also includes important and up-to-date Internet references to help with further research, as well as Richards’ personal (and funny!) Dictionary of Irish Slang and Phrases to help you to talk like the Irish do.

Loaded with facts, anecdotes, and lessons learned by a fellow American from Chicago – a regular guy just like you – A Survivor’s Guide to Living in Ireland is necessary reading for those who are thinking of either visiting this country for a prolonged stay, or those determined enough to move here permanently.The picture that Tom Richards provides in this book is much clearer and experiential than those written only from a perspective of rose-colored poetry.

A Survivor’s Guide to Living in Ireland provides factual information written in a style that travel writer Bill Bryson would appreciate, and illustrates what a move to Ireland requires…and captivates the reader by explaining exactly what living in Ireland is really like.

Tom Richards' wouldn't leave Ireland on a bet. Written without any punches pulled, this is the book to read if you've ever thought about moving to that marvellous country.

To order your copy, simply click here

No Victoria, Ireland Isn't Inexpensive

2009-04-09T04:32:00.000-07:00

Ireland is Inexpensive, Isn't It?

Recently, I received an Email from an erstwhile American living in Maryland who is determined to move to Ireland with her Irish husband. As part of her Email, she stated that it was her understanding that Ireland is a relatively cheap place to live. Her exact comment was: "But I hear I don't need as much money to live well."

Ummm - unfortunately, that's just not true at all. For a whole lot of reasons, Ireland can be a very expensive place to live. So, let me share what I wrote back to her.

Dear Diane,

Look, let me give you some straight-shootin' facts:

* Up until about 18 months ago, Ireland had one of the fastest growing economies in the world

* During that time period, we became one of the wealthiest countries in theEuropean Union. Per capita income was flying!

* But the downside was a significant increase in the cost of living. As of 2007 (and the latest figures available), Ireland became the most expensive country to live in the EU. We outpaced even Finland for that dubious honour.

* Everything - well not quite everything - rocketed in price: housing (we had a vicious housing bubble), groceries, petrol, you name it became more and more expensive.

* The 'good news' is that - because everyone was spending money - there was finally a bit of competition over here. So certain things - white goods, TVsets, etc - came down a bit in price. Compared to 1982 when I moved here, many of these items are less expensive now.

* In a previous Email, you mentioned that your Hubby was from the North. Areyou planning to live up there? The cost of living is less in the North than in the Republic. If, however, you're living in the Republic and being paid in Euro, many Irish people are going across the border to shop. This is due not only to the relatively low cost of many items, but also due to the current weakness of the Pound Sterling compared to the Euro - our euro's go just that much further right now in Northern Ireland.

* The other bit of good news is that the housing bubble has burst: right now, buying a house here is much less expensive than it used to be - by about a third, depending on the type of house and its location. And, because of the current recession, the cost of many items is falling drastically: from clothing to food to cars, things are becoming less expensive here.

* And this will continue for one simple reason: the government - only yesterday - announced a so-called 'Mini-Budget'. This had the effect of increasing taxes on almost everybody's salary by about (and on average) 4 percent. So that's more money that's being taken away from us (and out of the economy), which will force prices down even more, as retailers and manufacturers struggle to encourage people to buy.

Hopefully, the book (A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland) will give you a few tips on what to bring and what not to bring. But the important thing is this (and in reference to your thoughts on how 'cheap' it is to live here): Ireland is NOT inexpensive. While it is not as expensive as London or certain cities in the US (Washington DC, LA, and NY come to mind), Ireland is expensive. And that, I'm afraid, is just the way it is. But if you shop around, and learn to 'shop like the Irish do', you should do okay here (assuming you can find that elusive job.) Good luck!

Tom

The Job's the Thing

2009-04-08T00:43:00.000-07:00

Getting a Job in Ireland has Never Been as Tough

...But with a Little Gumption You Still Can

I feel like I'm experiencing Deja Vue: when I came to this country 27 years ago, the Irish economy was a mess: unemployment was almost 20 percent. Interest rates were approaching that same frightening figure. And there I was, a newly-arrived Yank married to an Irish woman, our first child tucked under my arm, and with only a few hundred bucks between us and perdition.

At that point in my life, I was only 26 years old. I had no real experience. I had very little to offer - or so I thought. Having arrived here, I fully believed that we were going to starve.

Fortunately, however, things worked out. I got a job. Then another job. Then I started my own business. And while in the intervening years things occasionally grew hairy, things have also worked out fairly well. And thank God for that, let me tell you!

The Worm Turns

But back to my recent feelings of Deja Vue. As I write this, unemployment has spiked to 11 percent and is expected to go much higher. Interest rates, thank God, are on the floor. But a hairshirt budget released by the Irish government only yesterday means that many people will find their paycheques significantly reduced, which means that many of us will be living on air.

And if you're an American facing relocation to Ireland, you're going to find it mighty tough to get a job. So what do you do? You could, of course, learn to plant potatoes and hope to fend off starvation that way. You could start your own business (see my seperate article on Starting Your Own Business). Or... you could get a job. If that's your hope, then here are some suggestions.

Getting that Job - Some Resources

Networking - it works just like the United States in that who you know is often much more effective than what you know, and no-where is that more true than in Ireland. Because of its small size Ireland is a veritable village in which everyone seems to know each other (or knows somebody who knows somebody). If you're trying to find a job here, do what the Irish do: talk to anybody that will listen, even complete strangers, about your aspirations. Then keep it up. Bug the hell out of people. Tell them that you're a poor Yank who is simply trying to survive. The Irish, God Bless 'em, have a huge propensity to help, particularly if they think you're stuck. And if you're lucky, your pleas for help will result in an interview.

Your Resume - called a CV over here is your tool to success. Make certain that you construct it to emphasise your skills. If you don't have a mobile phone buy one to make certain that prospective employers can contact you. Ask Irish people that you meet for copies of their CVs so that you understand the formatting - it's different over here compared to an American resume.

Don't Come Across All 'American' - my country people can be - and I hate to say it - a bit full of themselves. They believe that because they come from the States, the cornerstone of capitalism, that they know it all. When you come here, do remember that the Irish know a thing or two, too. Until recently, this country has been a hotbed of entrepreneurship. So be humble! Emphasise your skills and what you can bring to the table. Remember that many Irish companies are much smaller than equivalent US businesses. That means that many of us working here are capable of providing a number of skills within different areas of expertise. Emphasise your flexibility, your willingness to learn, and how you might be able to contribute to the bottom line.

Then Start the Search - Ireland has many, many resources that will help you find a job. Just a couple are http://www.irishjobs.ie/, http://www.jobs.ie/, http://www.recruitireland.com/, and http://www.monster.ie/. Also, try the major Irish newspapers including The Irish Times, the Independent, and the Irish Sunday edition of 'The Times'. Remember that Ireland is in recession right now, so it's going to take a lot of looking.

Now Contact Them - in my experience it is best to telephone the prospective employer to confirm that they really do have a job. If so, post in a cover letter and your CV. Then bug the hell out of them. Half the time, and if you don't follow up, you'll never receive a reply - not even a peep - to an unsolicited CV (remember that those prospective employers are receiving hundreds and hundreds of job queries). To be heard within the unemployment tumult, you'll have to make some noise. So don't be afraid to (nicely and professionally) contact them. This approach also demonstrates your enthusiasm and energy.

But Most Jobs are Never Advertised
Which also means that networking is probably the most effective method of landing a job within a market that is continuing to contract.

So if you're hell-bent on coming here, and want a job, be prepared to spend a considerable amount of time getting one. Be positive, be humble, but also be persistent!

For much more information on getting a job in Ireland, see A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland.

Why I Love Ireland

2009-04-05T14:09:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Irish Stars!
Alright. It's true. Living in Ireland can be a pain in the ass particularly if you're an American. Why? Well, it's different, that's why. The people talk funny (mind you, they tell me that I'm the one who talks funny). They drive on the other side of the road. They don't speak proper English (they call a sidewalk a path, for Godsake; and a hood a bonnet, whatever that is.) They don't even know how to eat properly (trying to get a blackberry pie over here is impossible. And the coffee - while much improved - can still be horrible).

So what is it about Ireland? It's not the government (those guys should all be sentenced to hard labour somewhere north of Siberia). It's not the weather (it rains all the time. I grew up in Seattle, so you'd think I'd be used to it. But it rains constantly). It's not even the Guinness (though is wonderful stuff, let me tell you. See, you have to know how to pour it just right...But that's another story).

So what is it about Ireland that is so bloody wonderful that it's kept me imprisoned here for over 27 years? I'll tell you what it is: it's the stars.

Starry, Starry Nights
If you're as lucky as I am, you live near the country. Which means that you can wander down a country road and in no time be out in the middle of no where. And by no where, I mean precisely that. You could be on the dark side of the Moon, let me tell you. But the wonderful thing about that is simple: there aren't any lights.

So you'll drive down this incredibly out of the way lane, and all of a sudden find yourself out in the middle of no where. You'll pull to the side of the road and turn out the car lights. And what happens next is magic: the entire universe seems to plunge into magical darkness.

So you'll get out of the car. You'll take a breath of air that is filled with the wonders of nature: of cow manure and fertiliser; of the smell of peat smoke coming from a nearby farmhouse; the sharp texture of a recent rain, and the pungent odour of blooming heather that filters its way to you over the nearby bogs.

You'll stand outside your car and smell all of that, and your olfactory senses will be on overtime because they're the only senses that seem to work, it's so dark. It's darker than your bedroom closet when you close the door. It's darker than the last day of winter when you know that it just has to become Spring. It's even darker than the blackest pint of Guinness.

At least you think it's dark.

Until You Look Up...

And behold the hand of God that has strewn a thousand billion stars across the sky. At first, you feel like an insect, so small are you compared to the majesty that seems just out of reach. But then, looking up, you feel that you're part of it all. That you are that majesty, or at least a true part of it.

And for a moment - despite the fact that you live thousands of miles from your homeland - you are one. One with what, I'm not quite sure. But you are, and you can count on that. And in that moment, you are not lonely, not even from yourself.

I've never felt that way anywhere. Not in Seattle or in Chicago or in New York or LA or all the other places that I've lived. I feel this way in Ireland, with the stars above my head, glittering in their cool magic.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I stay. The stars.

Are the Irish Bigoted?

2009-04-02T05:21:00.000-07:00

Today I was reading a thread on an expatriate website, Expat Exchange. One poor guy living in the States is interested in moving from the States to Ireland: he hopes to do so sometime next year, and wants to set up a restaurant here. As a bye-the-bye, he happened to mention that he was married to a woman of African-American descent. And then he asked something like: will my inter-racial marriage be accepted in Ireland?

The replies to his querry were thick and furious. One fellow who identified himself as an Hispanic stated that the question of race is still a big problem in this country. Others defended Ireland and its lack of bigotry.

So what's the truth? Do the Irish have a streak of begrudgin' bigotry in their blood?

The Problem with a Homogenous Society

First, you gotta understand that until fairly recently, Ireland was populated by pretty much a single group of people: White Catholics. There were - and still are - a few Protestants around, but White Catholics make up the vast majority of this country and have so for years and years. Homogeneity has its good sides of course: everyone knows what you're talking about. But it has its bad sides too: any type of change is difficult.

When my children were young, only 20 years ago or so, we had almost no 'foreigners' or people of a different skin persuasion. As a Yank here, I was one of a very small minority. And on the few occasions when my children did see someone with a darker skin tone, they were amazed. 'Did they put shoe polish on their face?' one of my daughters once asked. 'Nope,' I said. 'That's how he was born.' Her face turned to wonder at the strangeness of it all.

But that didn't mean that she was bigotted. Far from it. What it did mean was that she wasn't used to things different. Just like many people here. And in my experience, when people are confronted by the different, they aren't quite sure how to react.

But is Ireland Bigoted?

In my experience, and I'm side-stepping things slightly, they are and they aren't. That is to say, and just like any country, the vast majority of Irish welcome people of all different skin types, nationalities, and religions. In fact, many are positively intrigued by the new and different.

They sure welcomed me, is all I can say. And even though I don't have a skin colour much different from their own, I sure talked and acted differently than the Irish, at least when I arrived here. Which means that I stuck out like a sore thumb. But most people accepted me for who and what I am (and was). And that's all that counted.

But there's always the vocal minority. And some of those people can be absolute slobs. That vocal minority is present here and in the States and everywhere in the world, as far as I can tell. And most of the time, they're idiots.

Here in Ireland, that vocal, idiotic minority does its best to resist change. And if you happen to have a darker coloured skin than most, you can be the brunt of some slagging and rudeness, let me tell you.

For instance, and when the Celtic Tiger was in its heyday here, this small country attracted immigrants from all over the world: Polish, Russians, Lithuanians, Nigerians: all wanted a little bit of the Irish economic miracle. So they came here in droves. The majority of the Irish welcomed them with open arms, knowing that these people would provide the wherewithall to drive the Irish economy further toward wealth and riches.

But the vocal minority - those idiots didn't like them one little bit. They were convinced that these immigrants were depriving the Irish of jobs (even though new jobs were being created all the time); they begrudged them any sort of success (even though these new arrivals worked their asses off); and now that the Celtic Tiger is dead, they bemoan the fact that the 'immigrant cowards' are running away from Ireland in order to seek better lives.

Are the Irish bigoted? In my opinion, and in general, the answer is a resounding No. Does a vocal minority of idiots exist here (as in the rest of the world) who are bigoted and who take delight in expressing that bigotry? Damned right, I'm afraid.

The Irish are people, just like anywhere else. And like any society, they have their fair share of idiots. And that's just the way it is.

Educating Rita (or Jane, Joe, or Bob) in Ireland

2009-04-01T01:47:00.000-07:00

Ireland's Universities are First Rate

Every now and then, someone from the States asks me about the quality of higher education here. The un-asked question is 'Are Ireland's colleges and universities any good in that my son, daughter, cousin, friend wants to go to school there.' So I go through my usual blather of why I like the place, what I'd do if I were them, and what it is about many Irish colleges and universities that is so special. But hell, I'm biased. I sent my three kids to university in Ireland. What do you think I'd say?

But if you're one of those who is considering coming to Ireland for a year of higher education, let me tell you, this place offers some of the best colleges and universities around. And here's why:

Such a Choice!

Okay, Ireland isn't the United States. We don't have over 300 million people here, so we simply don't need the thousands of colleges and universities that are available in America. Ireland (for those of you who don't know) has a population of about 4 million - but we have an exemplary selection of schools, providing a choice of excellence.

Want to live and learn in Dublin? Then check out Trinity College, University College Dublin (UCD), Dublin City University (DCU) or the National University of Ireland Maynooth (NUIM). Each has something special to offer.

I'm biased in that I do some guest lecturing at NUIM. That's the university pictured above. It's a great place: a smaller campus, great staff, excellent lecturers (what did you think I'd say?), and some amazing opportunities for those of you who want to find it. There's something about NUIM that is sort of 'like home' - an intimacy that I've not found in a long time.

But the other universities are super too. Go to Trinity and you're on almost hallowed ground. Trinity is proud to display the Book of Kells on a permanent basis. So if you want to see an illustrated manuscript that's hundreds of years old, and get a great education in Ireland's bustling capital, then Trinity is for you.

Outside of Dublin

Want to get out of the Dublin area, explore and live in an area outside the Pale, but still get a wonderful educational experience? Then look into universities in Cork, Galway, Limerick and Belfast. Cork has a great school, UCC (University College Cork). Great academics, and a wonderful place to live. In Galway, try NUI Galway (NUIG). My daughter did her BSc in Marine Science there, and she found it wonderful. Not only is the quality of education great, but Galway offers something special: a small intimate city populated by some incredibly fun people; a gateway to Connemara, and some of the most beautiful parts of Ireland. Go to Galway and you'll participate in some almighty Craic that you'll remember for the rest of your life.

Limerick offers the University of Limerick. This esteemed university is renouned for the quality of its sciences. Or if you desire to go north, check out Queen's University Belfast, a superlative institution, and allowing you to live - and experience - the wonderful life of our Northern Irish cousins.

This, of course, is only a small sampling of what Ireland has to offer. But to answer the question: does Ireland offer some great education? You bet'cha, is all I can say.

'A' is for...

2009-03-31T07:49:00.001-07:00

Remember What an 'A' Was?

Don't know about you, but when I was in school (high school, college, etc), an 'A' was something that I aspired to. Not only did I want it, but I worked my bloody arse off for it. Many people do. In Ireland, it's pretty much the same way. The only problem is they don't grade on a curve here, so getting an 'A' is a real challenge. And when you get one, you want to hold onto it.

Which reminds me of the time:

I do some part-time lecturing over here in screenwriting at a local university. One of the students desperately wanted an A in the class. He would have done almost anything, I think - even polish my shoes - to get one. What he didn't realise was the fact that I was only looking for one thing from him that might justify such an esteemed grade: he needed to work his bloody arse off, and put a bucket of sweat into his final paper. Luckily for him, he did exactly that and I took great pleasure in giving him an 'A' for his final grade. He was overjoyed by it all, and now, for all I know, he has gone on to write speeches for the government, the poor guy. He should have known better because...

'A' Means So Many Things

A is for Achievement; A is for apple; and in Ireland A is also for Arse. Which I can use as a nice segue: 'Achievement', 'Arse' and 'A' as in the grade have some common ground in Ireland. And it takes the form of the present government here. Today, Ireland (as in its economy) lost its AAA rating because of the absolutely lousy manner in which the government is (not) managing the country's finances. Now we have an AA+ rating. Losing that third 'A' doesn't sound like much, but it means that it's going to cost the government lots more to finance the country's debt. Which is particularly vexing when you realise just how much the government is going to have to borrow over the next few years to keep this country afloat. At the rate they're going, we'll be down to a 'B' in no time, and that's bad news for the Irish, let me tell you. We're already looking forward to next week and a government 'Mini-Budget' which is bound to raise taxes on just about everything in order to pay for all the borrowed money.

So next time you see someone get an 'A', turn your thoughts to the Irish. We've lost our 'A', and are now at the mercy of a government that's run by a group of Arse's.

So you want to drive in Ireland...

2009-03-29T02:49:00.000-07:00

Driving in Ireland, particularly for this Yank, and particularly when I first arrived here, was - and still is - a real adventure. If you're an American - or if you're from anywhere else that drives on the right side of the road, you'll be delighted to know that driving over here is just a little different. And here's why:

* Yes, Virginia, they Do Drive on the Left Side of the Road
Which screws up everything, especially if you learned to drive in Chicago at the age of 16, and did so on the right hand side. Note the photo above. This is a pic of the interior of a Land Rover Discovery that I owned (I got rid of it 2 years ago, and really glad I did, in that no one wants to buy SUVs anymore). Note the placement of the steering wheel. IT'S ON THE RIGHT HAND SIDE. The gear shift is on the LEFT HAND SIDE. Which can make life a little tricky, let me tell you.

* What You Don't Want to Do When Driving in Ireland
Do NOT look up and right, expecting to find the rear view mirror. That's up and left. Do NOT look to the left expecting to find the side mirror. That's on the right hand side. Do NOT reach with your right hand, expecting to find the gear lever. Your hand will crash into the door.

* Negotiating Round-a-Bouts
In Ireland (and elsewhere in Europe), they have developed a traffic tool known as a Round A Bout. This large circle in the middle of the road is supposed to help erst-while drivers make it from A to B with as little difficulty as possible. For Americans, negotiating these things can be a nightmare. First, remember that you're turning LEFT into a round a about, not Right. Turning right can result in assorted mishaps and a quick trip to the hospital. When approaching a round a bout, my advice is this: close eyes, put the peddle to the metal, and pray to the traffic gods for assistance. With any luck, you'll scoot right on through oncoming traffic with narry a scratch. That's what I've been doing, at least, and it still works.

* Transitioning Between Countries
If you travel from Ireland and the US (or other countries) and back again, be prepared to suffer from Drivers' Transition Syndrome. This ailment (which has not been recognised by the World Health Organisation) has the following symptoms: when travelling back home from one country to the other (from Ireland back to America for instance) and having grown used to driving in that other 'foreign' country, be prepared to climb into your car, secure your safety belt, look up - and realise that you're sitting in the passenger seat, not the driver's seat. This is due to the fact that you have momentarily lost your mind, and have become dis-oriented (dis-orientated over here, by the way), and are not quite sure within which your body is currently residing and driving. Also be prepared for assorted stares from nearby passerbye's who are wondering what the hell you are doing.

* To Recover
To recover from this position: nonchalantly polish the passenger's dash board, pretending that you were intending to sit there in the first place. Get out of the car (ignoring the now laughter filled stares of passing people), climb into the REAL driver's seat (confirming that fact by ensuring the steering wheel is now in front of you), start car, and drive away.

By practicing the above a bit, and by following local Irish rules of the road, you too will be able to drive and survive in Ireland. Either that, or rent a donkey and cart. Tom

Oh the Beauty of West Cork!

2009-03-27T05:15:00.000-07:00

If you ever get to this side of the world, one of the places that you must visit - but that is well off the tourist trail for whatever reason - is West Cork, and the Beara Peninsula in particular. This corner of Ireland has to be one of the country's jewels in its crown, and truly is a little piece of Heaven.

What's There

Some of the most beautiful scenery in the country, as well as some of the most welcoming people. Travel into Bantry, then turn left and toward the sea. Arriving in Castletownbere, a fishing port, you'll have time to take in the beauty of the place. Perhaps stop for a full Irish fry before climbing back into the car for a journey inland. Stop next at the small village of Eyeries. This wonderful village, nestled between mountains and the ocean, sports pastel-painted row houses, welcoming shops, and some of the most entertaining pubs this side of Heaven.

If You're a Writer

You'll want to know about the Anam Cara Writer's and Artist's Retreat. Founded by another American Ex-Pat (Sue), this exceptional hostelry offers a home-away from home where writers and artists can work on their craft. I've had the pleasure of visiting Sue a number of times, and have always left with the uplifted feeling of completeness. For more information on Anam Cara, visit their website by clicking here.

Then Keep Going

From Anam Cara and Eyeries, keep driving Southwest along the Peninsula. Journey along the coast to Allihies, a wonderful village with breathtaking views. It's all part of the Beara Peninsula, one of my favourite places in Ireland.

What to Do

In the Beara Peninsula, enjoy walking along wonderful beaches, whale and dolphin watching, surfing & sailing, snorkling and diving. Or find a local pub, grab a pint, start up a chat, and let the hours pass away with some of the most welcoming people anywhere.

Getting There

From Dublin journey south to Cork. Then turn West toward signs for Bantry. The travel time from Dublin to Cork City is approximately 3 hours. To Eyeries, add another three hours.

For more information

Google West Cork Ireland, the Beara Peninsula, Eyeries Cork for many more details.

Why I Believe in America

2009-03-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

Flying the Flag and Believing in America

Karen Vogan, a Vice President at USBA, developed what I believe is a timely contest: 'USBA's Why I Believe in America' video competition. I decided to enter, and the video link below is the result.

I really enjoyed doing this: being so far away from home, and for as long as I have, I sometimes forget what it means to be American, and how proud I am of my country. Putting the video together was a definite reminder to me. And I wonder, particularly at stressful times like these, if we all forget how proud we are of our country, and just why we continue to believe in its principles.

If you'd like to join the competition - and perhaps win 1000 bucks - simply go to the USBA Contest Page by clicking here. All you have to do is tell everyone why you Believe in America, then upload your video. The contest closes at the end of May, so as I write this you still have plenty of time. So go ahead and let all of us know why you, too, still believe in America.

That, I think is a wonderful thing to do. Good thinking, Karen Vogan and USBA. It's a terrific idea.

Can't Get a Job? Make One!

2009-03-26T06:24:00.001-07:00

The recession is a global phenomenon. It's here in Ireland, there in the US, and throughout Europe and most of the rest of the world. The only place that seems to be keeping its head above water is China. And I don't particularly feel like going to China.

When I came to Ireland in 1982, I was also in the middle of a recession. I didn't have a job, and I couldn't get a job. If you're in the same boat, what do you do about it? The answer, as it turns out, is to create your own job.

Me? An Employer?

That's right. You. You can do this, and it's not that big a deal. I did it, and if I can do it, you can too. Back in 82, it worked like this: here I was, a Yank living in Ireland. I knew no-one. Nada. I wasn't able to get a job for months.

Then luck finally shone its face on yours truly. I got a job. Unfortunately, it paid just enough to keep body and soul together. With a wife, 2 kids, and another on the way, I needed something a little more lucrative. I wasn't hoping to make millions, mind you. But I wanted enough cash to do things: like buy shoes, for instance. So in 1987, I set up a marketing company. I've been at it ever since. And what'cha know? Even now, in the middle of recession, it's profitable.

So How Do You Do It?

Step One: the Idea

It helps, of course, if you have a good idea. A 'Business Proposition'. You don't need to be building a new Space Shuttle to start a company. Instead, look around you: what is it about an existing product or service that you use that really annoys you, or that you think should be done better? Turn that idea around in your head. How could you do it better?

Step Two: Research

Now do a little research. Who else provides what you think you want to provide? How much do they charge? What about their customer service levels? The quality of the product and service? How could you do it even better? Is it an area and product or service that offers future growth?

Step Three: the Business Plan

Now put your ideas down on paper in a Business Plan. A good business plan contains a minimum of: An executive summary; a product description; a SWOT (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats) analysis; target market description; list of competitors; a marketing plan (including the 4 Ps: product, price, promotional/advertising/awareness programme, distribution - which is 'place' or the 4th 'P'); a list of Unique Selling Propositions (e.g. what will make your product/service better than the rest); and finally, a finance plan that includes projected pro forma profit and loss accounts for the next 3 years.

Step Four: Do the Plan

Remember, you don't have to have big money to get into business. When I started my marketing company, I had exactly 1 dollar as the initial seed capital. You can start almost any kind of business with very little money. So don't let money - or the lack of it - prevent you from starting your own business.

Now You're Your Own Boss

I started my own company over 20 years ago, and I've never looked back. If I can do well in Ireland, then you can do well where ever you happen to reside. All it takes is a little courage, a little thinking, and a great deal of energy and commitment.

So if you're trying to fight the recession, and have either lost your job or are worried that you might lose your job, then consider starting your own business. You'll never look back.

The Backstory: Why an American Came to Ireland

2009-03-25T02:01:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, the wind blows us in a variety of different directions. In 1980, the wind blew me east, big-time. The short version of a fairly long story is this:

In 1980, and with a newly minted MBA under my arm, I decided to take a long holiday. After some considerable consideration, I decided to throw my bicycle onto a Freddie Laker flight, and flew onward to London. There, assembling the bike, and with only a couple of paniers, a passport, change of underwear, and some cash for company, made my way southeast. The plan was to journey first west, then north, and eventually to Scotland. Then back to London and a departure back to San Francisco.

However, fate had other ideas. Making my way to Wales, and eventually to Holyhead, I decided to take the ferry to Ireland. 'Why not?' I thought to myself. 'I've never been to Ireland. I might as well have a look.' So I did.
In Ireland, I disembarked in Dun Laoghrie, then peddled north. Past Dublin. And eventually to Dunleer in County Louth. There, I met a beautiful woman: Bernie.

Three days later - and it seems like a dream to me now - I asked her to marry me. Yep, right here on the spot, with the wonder of Ireland surrounding me. Fortunately, she said yes. Little did I know that her simple agreement to my proposal would change my life so fundamentally.

We moved back to the United States. But in 1982, and facing the raging winds of Recession, and with Bernie begging me to take her back to Ireland - her homeland - I did what any husband would do: I agreed. Having sold off most of our belongings, we climbed on a flight and headed to here.

I've been in Ireland ever since. (For more information on why I came here, and why I've stayed for so many years in this terrific company, go to http://ebooks.escapeartist.com/products/country-reports/ireland/guide-to-living-in-ireland/).

The intervening 27 years have been a journey of discovery: of learning to understand a new culture, and a people that are the most welcoming in the world. There have been ups and downs and the occasional heartache. But all in all, I've discovered that this American can live in Ireland, and survive here.

If you'd care to, follow me now as I keep you abreast of the latest in this land that still possesses a certain magic.

(Pictured: the sun sets in West Cork)

The Irish Recession: Who is this Man? Why is He Frowning?

2009-03-24T01:39:00.000-07:00

No, this is not a Leprechaun. This, my friends, is Brian Cowan, Ireland's Taoiseach. A 'Taoiseach', for those of you not living here, is akin to a Prime Minister. In other words, he's the head of the Irish government. The buck stops on his desk and no where else.

And, this man is principally responsible for the sorry state of Ireland's current economy.

Ireland in Recession
For those of you who don't know it, or think that this God-aweful recession is only localised to you, take heart: it's in Ireland, too. As of this writing, over 10 percent of Ireland is out of work. The housing bubble - and yes, Ireland had a housing bubble too - has imploded, showering the country with trouble. Housing prices have fallen on average about 30 percent from their highs in mid-2007. What's left is chaos: falling home prices, foreclosures, and a construction industry that's on its knees.

The fall-out from this has been spectacular: unemployment has sky-rocketed. Today, Ireland's Celtic Tiger has ceased to roar. Instead, people who don't have jobs struggle with their bills and hope that they can pay their mortgages. People with jobs do their best to count their blessings. In the meantime, business failures continue to rise; Irish banks - still loaded with toxic debt and their share prices on the floor - find that they can no longer borrow money internationally.

In other words, the country is in a mess.

But Why is the Government Responsible?
I saw an article the other day which made heavy reading: in 2000, the total Irish government budget was approx 20 billion euro. In 2008, only 8 years later, that same budget had grown to over 60 billion euro. Bloated with new public employees and average public servant pay that is now higher than any poor slob working in the private sector, the government is now watching its tax take plummet as the result of a disastrous economy.

And who was at the helm of the Department of Finance when the public sector grew into an unmanageable state? Brian Cowan, that's who.

And who is still at the helm of the Irish government, only now its Taoiseach? Brian Cowan.

The people of Ireland deserve better. Unfortunately, we can only hope that the bloated public sector is forced to go on a strict diet. Just like our not-so-illustrious leader.

I've Set Up the Followers' Gadget Widget Thingy

2009-03-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

Want to follow Surviving Ireland and learn to be just a little more Irish in the process? Then join my journey - and share your views - by following this Blog. Who knows? You might learn to drink a pint like the Irish do. Slan!

(Why not come along...?)

Tom

Welcome to Surviving Ireland

2009-03-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

As an American living in Ireland for the past 27 years, I've had the privilege (and occasional hardship) of making a home in this country through the good times, the bad times, and the times in between.

This occasional Blog, Surviving Ireland, hopes to be a compendium of advice, news, and gossip about what's happening in Ireland, why it's happening, and the possible side-effects of those 'happenings'.

It hopes to be a companion piece to a book that I had the fortune to write: A Survivor's Guide to Living in Ireland. In fact, the new 2009 edition has just now been completed, and is available at http://www.escapeartist.com/ for only a few US bucks.

In point of fact, this Blog will also hope to answer:

* What's happening in Ireland - its changing landscape, economy, and concerns of its people (particularly the concerns of this Ex-Pat)

* Places to go and see - if you are considering visiting - and perhaps living in - this welcoming country, my hope is that this Blog might become a forum for continuing discussions about where to go and what to see when you get here.

* Musings on Ireland - and for those of you who simply enjoy the wonder of this magical, though often damp, country, I'll take delight in offering you some simple thoughts on how this one American has managed to survive in Ireland for over 25 years.

So pour yourself a pint of black, and check back when you can. Cead Mile Failte, and welcome to Surviving Ireland.

Tom Richards