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Overlooking Dalkey Island in the Republic of Ireland (Summer 2007)

Dalkey Island was just off shore; it was a tiny little piece of rock in the Atlantic ocean, with a tower-like structure rising from the grass. Before this was a tiny, ancient church which used to have a peaked roof. Now it only has two side walls and a peaked wall in front and behind—like a gingerbread house before you get to the challenging part. Down a gentle hill to the right of these buildings was a short-walled and also roofless fort. Inside the fort were rusty tracks which guns once slid along from place to place like trains. Dalkey Island seemed exciting, secret, abandoned, and older than I could contemplate. Granddad took us there twice, and the sky was grey each time. He would hire a rowboat and we would explore the tiny island until the rowboat’s owners returned for us.

The door of the tower was high up the tower’s wall, and I needed a giant boost to get inside. I was not too deterred from feeling like I was in some magical place by the strong scent of urine and the sight of beer bottles in the darkness. I just wanted to climb the curving stairs to get to the top. I wanted to see the view through the cap-like roof, but I don’t remember if I ever did. Eventually we just sat close to the shore, looking across the wide and grey Atlantic towards Canada, with Granddad sitting on my left and Danielle on my right. At least with my sense of direction I thought we were looking towards Canada. We weren't. Seal after seal would pop its head out of the water to stare curiously and boldly back at us, and I was as delighted as a nine-year-old could be. Back at the boat launch, Danielle had to keep her hand on her hat to protect it against the wind while I took pictures of two jellyfish in the water. I had never seen jellyfish before.

But on one visit the rowboat was readied as the weather grew stormy. We had to leave before it could get any worse. I sat in the bow and felt like I was flying even as I crashed with the boat down the dark waves. My short blonde hair was whipped away from my face as we rose over the next grumpy batch of water, but the salty spray flecked my cheeks with a remarkably gentle touch. I was an adventurer! For some reason, I was also Pocahontas. I was never afraid. And this was my kind of travel.

When I returned to Ireland at eighteen, my mum enjoying the trip with me, we didn’t have a chance to go back to the island. It might be just as well since I wouldn’t want to spoil the memory. But the island still has the same appeal, and it sums up the many levels of my experience with Ireland. I have also heard a rumour about the small ruins of a castle somewhere which bear a name my family has married out of—and I intend to hunt for these ruins next time. There’s still plenty to explore.

My first step to an extended stay in Ireland was applying for dual citizenship. My mum lived in England up until she was seven years-old, and our trip back together was her first returning voyage. It is thanks to her that I was eligible for dual citizenship. I applied here: https://www.gov.uk/overseas-passports. It’s supposed to cost $211 plus the cost of passport photos (about $10), and courier fees ($33), but for me it ended up being closer to $320 because I needed to rush order my “long” birth certificate from here: http://www.vs.gov.bc.ca/forms/index.html, then rush it by courier to the Passport Office in Washington, DC. Yes, the States. This is because they chose to have one location on this continent in order to stream-line the process. I hadn’t expected Hurricane Sandy to affect my everyday life way over in British Columbia, Canada. But eventually the papers stopped blowing around and in under two months I became a Subject of the Crown!

Overall it was a bit of a pain, but snagging dual citizenship seems to be the cheaper route than going with a work abroad program. Plus, the Passport Office reimburses some of the cost if you aren’t approved! And as a European Union (or E.U.) adjacent country, I can now live and work in either the Republic of Ireland in the south, or in the E.U.’s Northern Ireland. So wherever those ruins are, I’ll be there too!