The day I made my official application for the University of Bologna, I thought it would never stop raining in Dublin. On my daily commute to work, the bus would only leave me half way, and so I would have to walk the rest of the way to the office, come rain or shine. In Dublin, there is much more of the former.

The puddles had already breached the soles of my work shoes, and with a ten minute walk to work in the rain, I just had to accept that I would reach the office drenched and angry. In Dublin, an umbrella is of little use, the wind comes not from the East nor the West, but from above and below, swirling around you like a personal tornado, customised for your discomfort and gunning to turn your umbrella into a tangled mess of fabric and steel that eventually becomes more of a burden than a help.

That very day I went directly home and finished my application, determined to leave the rain behind. Choosing Bologna, a city where all of the footpaths are covered by porticoes so that the rain can’t get to you, I made the right decision. I left a country and a city I loved, a great job with wonderful people, but I haven’t looked back yet.

Returning to Ireland for Christmas reminded me of both why I left, but also why I will always return. The rain continued to fall and the same things bugged me about life in Ireland; its politics and inferiority complexes, its weather and its inhabitants’ ability to talk about it at length. But home is home, and as soon as I touched down I started down a dark path of eating and drinking and didn’t stop until I was hauled onto the plane at Dublin airport. Italian food is great, but after 3 months I could face another goddamn version of bread, tomato and cheese. And I’m sorry to all of my dear Italian friends, but all pasta is the same no matter what shape it comes in. I needed my ‘meat and two veg’, my meal ‘roashted out of it’ [cit.], my gravy, and my rashers. I also made sure to give three months worth of business to the local pub.

Christmas dinner was as good as ever, and the whole extended family gathered around an enormous turkey and a few bottles of port to celebrate together in style. Myself and Charlie put on our kilts which is fast becoming a tradition in our household, honouring our ancestors the Border Reiver Carlisles of Scotland, but mostly just looking for an opportunity to wear a pretty skirt.

Maybe it’s island living, but months in a landlocked city see you wishing for the sea, for the battering of wind and rain against the window while you sleep. No one ever sleeps as soundly as I do when it’s warm inside and the wind tries its hardest to break through. At times in my bed in Clontarf you can even feel the distant vibration of the outgoing and incoming ferries and cargo ships, that constant activity of a city that hugs the ocean and the traffic that never stops travelling to other corners of the earth.

One Friday I made sure to get out on the sea with the Cumann Curach. Some rowers do this for exercise, I do it for the rhythm and the company. I remember Liz of the Cumann telling me about ‘communicating through the oars’. Once you get a good pattern with your colleagues going, it certainly feels this way. The same goes for most aspects of camaraderie and companionship; when you are all working towards the same goal often words are superfluous, and all that is needed is silent endeavor.

 

The day after my return to Italy, I determined to travel to Modena to see one of my favourite bands play in their own hometown: the Modena City Ramblers. A red flag waving, Italian folk band with music inspired by Irish trad; they are a band that are very close to my heart, and they were the perfect welcome back to my new home. Seeing Modena City Ramblers play ‘In Un Giorno di Pioggia‘ (‘On A Rainy Day’), a song about leaving Dublin in the rain, was an emotional personal reintroduction to Italy following the Christmas break. It reminded me that so much of home stays with me everywhere I go, and that often Ireland is waiting for me right here on my doorstep.

When I boarded the plane at Dublin airport these words came to me from that very song:

“Addio, addio e un bicchiere levato al cielo d’Irlanda e alle nuvole gonfie.

Un nodo alla gola ed un ultimo sguardo alla vecchia Anna Liffey e alle strade del porto.”

[Translation]

“Adieu, Adieu and a raised glass, to Ireland’s sky and to her swollen clouds.

With a lump in the throat I give one last look at old Anna Liffey and the streets of her harbour”

 

It’s not an addio Irlanda, it’s more of an arrivederci!