Winters in Dalian, a city in China’s Liaoning province, can be inhospitable affairs at the best of times, with temperatures invariably hovering well below freezing. On that particular morning in January 2020, however, it wasn’t the cold that was the problem. Rather, it was the approaching sense of doom brought on by the news that an increasing number of people were falling victim to a new Sars-like virus emerging in Wuhan, in Hubei province.
The dark, rain-sodden skies outside our 21st-floor apartment window reflected our unease about the unfolding situation. My partner, Daguang (a Chinese-born Irish citizen), and I immediately decided to say our goodbyes to his mother and two sisters. That evening we boarded a Cyprus-bound plane from Beijing, thereby calling a sudden halt to our plans to spend 2020 in the Middle Kingdom, as China is known.
Neither of us could be described as emigrants in the normal sense of the word. Unlike most people, gallivanting rather than settling down in any one place is our preferred option.
Fortunate enough to be able to retire from the Irish Defence Forces at the ripe old age of 41, in 2001, I was, after a few years doing a degree in social studies and further time working in social care, in the happy position of being able to leave Ireland to live in as many other countries as time, good health and the grace of God allowed.
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Daguang was also content to give up his job and take to the road with me. Leasing out our jointly owned apartment meant we’d be able to afford to pay rent in whichever country we decided to settle.
Winding the clock back now to October 2006, and my first visit to China, it would be fair to say that it was all rather disorientating.
My home place of Tipperary town had afforded little in the way of preparation for life in a city of almost eight million people. Culture, food and language differences also conspired to ensure that living there would always be a challenge. But once I got through the following nine years or so, and mostly because of Daguang’s unwavering support, things became easier.
I found a job as an English-language teacher, which I loved and which also helped me make friends. In fact, the interview for the teaching job told me more about Chinese culture, especially with regard to the Asian phenomenon of maintaining “face”, than I could ever have learned from any number of travel books.
You see, having been informed that my interview was successful, the school principal promptly let it be known that my degree parchment from IT Tralee wasn’t impressive enough for inclusion on the school wall dedicated to that purpose. Quickly realising that she was referring to the aesthetics of the thing rather than what it represented, I promised her that I’d immediately provide what she required. In China, appearances matter. Better to have one richly decorated fake certificate than 10 genuine plain ones.
Then, in June 2016, it was off to Spain, where we spent almost four years (broken only by two short holidays, in Ireland and China) in Torremolinos.
Work in Torremolinos was mostly of a part-time (voluntary) nature. We both thoroughly enjoyed the climate, the food and, of course, the easy way of life, never mind that the town itself had long been welcoming of those from the LGBTQI+ community.
It soon became time to pay an extended visit to China, mostly because of the advancing years of my partner’s mother and his understandable desire to spend more time with her. (Mind you, being an octogenarian doesn’t prevent Dr Ji Feng Zhen from working six days a week.) That made it all the more unfortunate that Covid forced us to leave China so much earlier than planned, when we left for Cyprus on that fateful January day in 2020.
Sadly, what had once been a veritable paradise in the Mediterranean seemed to have deteriorated in all manner of ways – urban decay, unrestricted development, pollution, cost of living and so on – since I’d last been there, in the mid-1990s, while serving with the United Nations. We remained there for barely half a year.
It should be evident at this stage that sun, sea and sand are among our major considerations whenever we decide to change countries. And so it was that the summer of 2020 found us in Benidorm, in Spain, were we would go on to enjoy a quiet year in almost total lockdown. No boozy holidaymakers or noisy nightclubs, just plenty of time for beach walks and quiet contemplation.
Of course, the “where to next?” question often dominated those inner conversations. After sampling both Lisbon and Porto at the tail end of 2021, we finally settled – that word again – on the beautiful island of Madeira in January 2022.
We both have to admit that the year gone by has been one of the happiest of our lives. I couldn’t write about Portugal without mentioning the kindness and friendliness of its people. This applies, too, when it comes to the country’s public servants. We were here less than a week when we received, in the space of a day, our residency papers, tax numbers and medical cards.
That was a far cry from Spain, where red tape slowed down even the most inconsequential transactions.
Aware now that China has opened up again, we patiently await the time when we feel it is safe to travel there and so see Daguang’s family for the first time in what will by then be nearly four years.
Before that, though, Greece beckons, and with it the joy of being able to sample life in Athens.
No doubt our here, there, and everywhere lifestyle wouldn’t suit everyone. But, as the saying goes, to each their own. And long may it last.
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