New Country Requisites

Certain things are essential when you move to a new country. Finding a job, filing a load of paperwork, finding a place to live, and going exploring are all New Country Requisites. I've managed to square all of these away during my first week in Dublin, which leaves opening a bank account as the only task I've yet to complete. The first New Country Requisite to be checked off the list was securing a job. I'd set up an interview with Irish International BBDO back in July, and went to that on my third day in Dublin. Our discussion about my previous work experience, the rivalry between Minneapolis and St. Paul, differences between American, British and Irish English, and Irish authors ended with a job offer.

I was ecstatic about this new opportunity, and my excitement helped to carry me through the drudgery of the second New Country Requisite: filing my paperwork. There was a fair amount of it, and each thing was dependent upon something else. To open a bank account, I need a PPS number. To get a PPS number, I need a GNIB card. I took care of that first hurdle on Wednesday. I turned up at the GNIB Office early in the afternoon and tried to suss out the chaos. There were people waiting in chairs at the back of the room, people waiting in chairs at the front of the room, and a big random queue at the front. I didn't know where to start, so I decided to join the big random queue. They issued me a paper ticket with the number 280 on it. Below that in small letters it said, "You are number 67 in the queue." What? Really?

I went and sat down in one of the rows of prefabricated wooden chairs and finished up James Joyce's Dubliners. The numbers slowly increased and the time slowly passed. Over two hours later, my number finally appeared on the digital screen above one of the counters. I slid my passport and visa into the tray under the window, and the Irish lad on the other side got to work entering the data. It proved very difficult to understand his accent through the solid sheet of plexiglass, but we managed. After he'd processed the paperwork and taken my photo, I went and waited for the announcement of "American national Nicole Otten to counter one, please," that would end my GNIB experience. That call came relatively quickly, and I escaped three hours after entering the office.

Given the huge expenditure of time required to secure a GNIB card, I was not looking forward to going to the PPS office on Friday. That proved to be much less of an ordeal. I was there for a total of 15 minutes, and there was even a speaker device in the plexiglass window so I could hear the woman on the other side.

The PPS office was located close to Phoenix Park, so I decided to go exploring after I was through. I walked along the road that runs along the outside of the park for quite some time before I could find an entrance that wasn't gated and locked. I'm still using a pocket street atlas to navigate, and only one small corner of the park is included in the atlas. I wandered for a bit until I came upon a roundabout that was on my map. I started walking in the direction that would bring me to the exit, but nothing seemed to match the map. Monuments were missing, ponds were nowhere to be found, and entire cricket grounds had disappeared. All I could see was tall prairie grass and an unidentified road. I second-guessed myself and walked back toward the roundabout. On the way there, I noticed that the open-topped Dublin tour buses were pulling in, swinging around the roundabout and heading back out in the direction I'd just been walking. Feeling confident that a tour bus wouldn't lead me astray, I turned back around and followed their route. After walking for ages, I came upon a second roundabout--the one that was actually on the map. From there, everything was laid out as it should have been, and I found my way to the exit.

Friday night continued with some culinary exploration. I was missing London, and Mimi decided that raw seafood was just the thing to cheer me up. We joined her friend Kritika at Aya, where a conveyor belt of sushi wound past booths and countertops. Mimi and Kritika took part in Sushi 55, where they were allowed to eat as much sushi as they could handle for 55 minutes. I'd never had sushi before, and I was afraid to dive straight in with a 55 minute session. I had a delicious plate of chili beef udon noodles instead. But I couldn't let all that sushi pass me by without giving it a go, so I nabbed a piece off Mimi's plate when our strict waitress had wandered away somewhere that put us out of her line of vision. The bit I had was pretty tasty, so I'll likely experiment with it more in the future.

In addition to new food, Mimi has been giving me a thorough introduction to Dublin's pubs this week. My favourite so far is Cobblestone, a pub at the top of the square where we're living. There are incredible live traditional music sessions every night, and the place boasts a very laid-back, genuine atmosphere. People go simply to enjoy themselves and their pints.

After taking care of the first three New Country Requisites, I decided to focus in on the flat search. I went to see my first place on Sunday. I would have been living with two Polish guys in a basement flat. The person moving out, Peter, came up to let me in and show me around. When I walked in, his roommate stood up to shake my hand. His palm was discomfortingly moist, and he wouldn't let go until the greeting had extended well beyond awkward. I took a quick tour through the place and returned to the living room, where Peter began to explain how bills and the lease would work. He revealed that the rent was so astonishingly cheap because Handshake Guy slept permanently on the sofa. But I didn't have to worry because I could walk through the living room to the open kitchen and cook without disturbing him. Peter also explained that they smoked in the living room, "but not in your room."

I answered "OK" in response to each of these points, as people tend to do. Suddenly, Handshake Guy laughed and said, "You say OK to everything! OK! OK! OK!" In response to this, I started trying to reply with substitutes to OK, such as "Alright," "That sounds good," and "Sure." Finally Peter took down my name and number so they could let me know whether or not I'd been chosen to be the lucky new roommate. He remembered my name as Nicole instead of Nikki and wrote that down. As he did, Handshake Guy said suggestively, "Ahhh, Nicole!" and I felt my skin crawl a bit. I was absolutely relieved to make my way back outside.

My second viewing was a bit less shudder-inducing. An older Irishman named Walter showed me a small, slightly tattered room with its own kitchen and bathroom. The place wasn't bad, but the pervading stench of old woman perfume lingered in my nostrils a good distance down the street. I had another viewing that night in the same area, and I felt optimistic about it. I walked for ages down the street, eventually calling the person showing me to flat to make sure I wasn't headed in the completely wrong direction. When I finally arrived, I loved the house. The room was small but nice, there was a garden, the area seemed safe, no-one permanently occupied the sofa and neither of the people I met insisted on clasping my hand in a neverending damp handshake.

I went home and agonised a bit over the decision, as I generally do. A few hours of Google searches returned no dodgy results, and I determined that I could make it to work in a reasonable manner. I texted Johnny that night to say I'd take the room. I waited nervously though the next day to hear if they'd have me, and finally received good news as I arrived home after work. I'll be moving in with my four new Irish housemates on Saturday. I'm delighted to be settled in and able to focus my energy on only one New Country Requisite: exploring!