The worship of one’s own country can be perfectly healthy – as long as it’s not taken at all seriously. It’s a tightrope many Irish emigrants find themselves walking as they carry memories of home into countries where the GAA has little authority, and Tayto is not a more accurate word for deep-fried slices of potato.
Playful patriotism is an art I’m learning on the other side of the world.
I arrived wide-eyed in the sprawling, salsa-soaked Mexican capital just under a year ago, free of expectations. In my head there was a blank space filled with some burritos (are they even Mexican?) and population statistics stalked by zeros beyond my comprehension.
Landing in this city of extremes, I thankfully had a boyfriend of Mexican ties and a promised safety net – my Irish identity.
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[ I’m far from home, but the similarities between Ireland and Mexico are manyOpens in new window ]
A short stint at school in Brussels had given me a taster for the strength of Irish communities abroad. But my bachelor’s degree experience in Pisa left me bereft of any Irish mooring.
The result was a young adult who felt Irish and proudly purported to be, but couldn’t name a Christy Moore song and had all but forgotten her cúpla focail.
There was not even a liking for Guinness in me (despite what I told any interested Italians). I’d simply not spent enough time as an adult in Ireland to develop a taste.
I was thus primed for some Irish expat sentimentalisation.
My sister had beaten me to Chilangolandia (Mexican term for the capital) by two months.
When she told me of the Gaelic football team, I felt comforted. If the Mexicans spurned me as a pale fish out of water, at least I would have my people to accept me. And if my football skills weren’t up to par, I could always hand out the oranges.
And so, I arrived in this bigger than enormous city of extremes. I saw the poles from the wealthy green grassed, sky-scraping Interlomas to the raucous furnace of Tepito. I saw the anti-gentrification slogans spray-painted in walls wedged between chic Condesa cafes.
Now, I down refreshing sueros drinks and breathe polluted air. I smile graciously, guiltily, at a bored portero who lets me into my building each day. I fight a losing battle with traffic timing and peso/euro conversion. I watch little blond children play with their much darker Mexican nannies.
[ ‘Jesus, there’s some altitude here’: Introducing Mexico City’s first GAA clubOpens in new window ]
When it feels overwhelming, I’ll uncomplicate life by meeting other Irish folks to speak a bizarre type of “Spirish” in our ciorcal cómhrá.
The Gaelic football team has saved me in grisly get-to-know-you conversations. The Irish identity has been a net to catch me, but it isn’t solely held by other Irish natives.
There is a brilliant, if somewhat bemusing, grá for all things Irish here in Mexico. A strong love for the Irish took root during the 1840s Mexican-American War after the St Patrick’s battalion, an immigrant unit of the US army, switched sides. A deep-seated appreciation for Ireland has endured in Mexico ever since.
I’m received with delighted smiles and questions, real and rhetorical, whenever I tell someone I come from the land of Guinness and Paul Mescal.
I am learning how to lightly lionise Ireland between schooling from my Irish friends, research into the Irish language for my Teanganama YouTube channel, and tales of travels to Ireland from my Mexican friends.
The daily convergences of cultures have helped me to understand the essence of Irishness.
Lately, I have found myself falling into an easy trap: romanticisation of Irishness.
Any slightly antisocial behaviour and I find myself saying “an Irish person wouldn’t do that”. Someone does a good thing somewhere, and I give myself a conceptual pat on the back upon discovering their heritage. I’ve even started to reminisce about the rain. The romanticisation is memory morphing, however.
I’ve resisted taking my uber-patriotism seriously. I tend to flip the conversation back towards the asker whenever we linger upon Irishness too long.
Spotting the intersection in the Irish-Mexican venn diagram is a fun game to play: the love of the fiesta/craic, the self-deprecating humour, bad neighbours, friendliness, relaxed attitudes, the impact of colonialism, and a dual existence of Catholicism and connection with the spirit world (Día de los Muertos/Samhain). The list really goes on.
My friend and football coach John observed that in both cultures, the aim of life is to have fun and enjoy it – neither prioritises looking cool over having fun.
It’s been delightful to learn about my home at such a distance and through such a unique lens. But I’m balancing on a thin tightrope of remote patriotism – letting my heart grow neither blind nor bitter with distance. Merely fonder.
Tola Ní Shúilleabháin (23) is from Clonakilty, Co Cork, and is living in Mexico city, from where she is teaching language classes, with plans to return to Belgium to begin a journalism masters.She posts about Irish language at TangaAnama on YouTube.
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