This post comes to you from a bedroom in Kingsand, Cornwall, which is my new set-up for the next little while. I am here, and not tucked up back home in between semesters, post-Mediterranean holiday, because of the university I’ve been writing about for the past few months: Trinity—and the fact I’m in the process of extending my time abroad so that I can spend more time studying there.
My feelings towards my time in Dublin are overwhelmingly positive. It’s probably easiest explained in the spiel I’ve found myself giving any time someone asks me about being there: “Everything I’m learning about feels so immediate, because so many of the writers I’m studying have come through Trinity, or lived in Dublin, or been so close geographically that it’s far more accessible and real than it’s possible for them to be in New Zealand. The history—buildings hundreds of years older than even the first glint of any Treaty on New Zealand soil—is right there. Oscar Wilde’s houses, and Yeats’s; sites of risings and revolution now right on my doorstep. The city never feels intimidating, as some can, and once you’ve got your bearings you’ll find yourself devising shortcuts and favourite routes and you’ll be engaging in a light College Green jaywalk ahead of the LUAS with the best of them.”
Okay, so maybe I don’t wax quite that poetic when I’m describing my experience, but I’d say I get pretty close to it. And they’re truths.
Don’t get me wrong, there are absolute, complete stressors: administration and enrolment at Trinity is entirely different from Auckland; immigration appointments can provide long wait times and make every single person involved anxious; if you walk two streets off your normal route you can be lost in the depths of suburbia—but these are difficulties you’d find anywhere, in some form or another. They pass, and you can get down to the business of enjoying your experience. (That said: homesickness hits the best of us, though it can be helped through social media. The time difference for me ranged from 11 hours to 13, but I managed. Wrecked my best mate’s sleep schedule, and mine, but it can be dealt with!)
I’ve found that what I got out of the experience massively outweighed the anxiety I felt at times (story of my life, really). Dublin is a great place to move if you want an international experience that is truly independent, but also not vastly different from home. The sense of humour is the same, and the same rugby games get broadcast in the pub. (I was the sober friend on a Literary Pub Crawl and almost gave up on the rest of the night because I spotted the ’Saders—y’know, the usual.)
I built a nice little routine for myself in Dublin: trips to Lidl and the ways to walk; cinemas I’d go to on occasion and which shops to avoid at which times because they’d be manic. I made friends from around the world (though unfortunately none from Ireland—a downside of international accommodation). I had an absolutely brilliant time, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.