Blogcoven

After the multi-year, $1,000+ madness involved in getting an American green card (permission to live and work in the States essentially indefinitely), I had a difficult time accepting that the analogous process in Ireland would be so much simpler as to create a divide by zero error while comparing the two. I could not wrap my tiny head around the idea that all I had to do was show up, smile my way through passport control, and then visit the Gardai (police) once I was already in the country. My raging dislike of Delta aside, I could not believe it would be more difficult to physically transport myself than to obtain permission to stay. I woke up at 4:30 Tuesday morning from a combination of nerves and jetlag. It could not possibly be that easy.

Of course, it was that easy.

The immigration office had moved since I last had to deal with it, and had upgraded significantly. I insisted on getting there as early as we could to avoid day-long queues, so by 9:45 we’d arrived and had gotten a number. By 10:30, we were walking out the door with a registration card (it looks like a standard ID card and has a chip with my fingerprints on) and permission for me to stay and work for 5 years.

There was no: trouble over having a different surname, questioning over what exactly I plan to do here, request for evidence of cohabitation, suspicious looks implying somehow I am trying to cheat them out of their lovely country and culture, fee of any kind.

There were: smiles, clear and kind instructions, fast and efficient service, and astonished respect that I’d managed to preserve my registration documents from when I was here years ago. (“That thing is ancient,” I had been told at passport control. The people in immigration passed it around with reverence, flipping carefully through the pages as if they would crumble into dust if poorly treated.)

I suspect many things contributed to my experience, some of them a result of hard work and planning, others mere luck of birth. They did not check my qualifications or ask for my title, but I did list my occupation as “scientist.” Not only was I married to a local, I had an Irish marriage certificate and it was clear that the marriage had taken – after four years, such things stop being convenient and people start taking you seriously even if you’re applying for a visa. I think being American, fluent in English, and white helped significantly, though I did notice people ahead of me from Afghanistan and Cameroon who were processed just as easily as me without being white or American (though they may well have been fluent English speakers).

In any case, it’s done now and I have no excuse for not finding a job.