I'll take Berlin

After 18 months Ian Kilroy has had enough of living in the US, where the American dream has become more like a nightmare.

Living in the United States for the past year and a half felt a little like leading the double life of a spy. In the hysteria of Bush's US you learned to govern your tongue in public places, censor your thoughts at dinner parties and seek accurate reportage from underground sources. The atmosphere of Soviet Russia came to mind. In every public place was a television set spewing out the party line. Eventually, you parroted that line, albeit subconsciously.

Most of my US friends supported the war in Iraq. Most were convinced that there were weapons of mass destruction and that Saddam Hussein was about to nuke them. One felt that the war would be good for the economy, and most still believe that Iraq was involved in the September 11th attacks. To watch the use of fear in the manipulation of an entire population has been an education. So my wife and I have left Boston and come back to Ireland.

When we landed in the US, in January 2003, the country was in the throes of its new xenophobia. The drums of war were sounding and the terror level was high. People were buying chemical-warfare suits and taping up windows to guard against chemical attack. Everywhere the flag was flying, and soon the French would become Bart Simpson's cheese-eating surrender monkeys. Everyone who dissented became similarly simian.

My wife, Isabelle, is French. Once the war finally started the comments in bars quickly followed. "Who the f**k do the French think they are?" "We saved their asses at Normandy." Restaurants served up freedom fries, shops sold T-shirts saying: "First Iraq, then France." Isabelle had come to the US hoping to stay for up to five years. As the atmosphere grew uglier, we felt ever more eager to be off.

Most disturbing was the way some of our stateside Irish friends seemed to have been reprogrammed by the hysteria. They too railed against France, they too argued that the UN "were a bunch of weasels". The world didn't know what "we" in the US had done for them. How dare they dissent.

Even many in the civilised city of New York had lurched toward barbarity. In their analysis the war was a clash of civilisations: it was us or them. When the photographs emerged from Abu Ghraib talk-radio commentators dismissed them. "I'd pay good money to have women's underwear put on my head," said one. Donald Rumsfeld, the US defence secretary, publicly revelled in the death of 3,000 Iraqi troops; he also declared that he wanted to hunt down and kill terrorists. The old idea of arresting people, of due process, had gone out the window. An ugly atmosphere prevailed.

Despite all this, living in the US was still a positive experience. The informal ease and friendliness of the people, the greatness of American culture, the fundamental decency of much in American life made our lives full of pleasure. Boston is beautiful, the most European of US cities, with a public-transport system far superior to anything in Ireland. On our doorstep were the beaches of New England, New York was just a short bus ride away and public radio and television, although followed by few, meant there was an informed minority to converse with.

But one of my greatest pleasures was the discovery of baseball. Unlike the grunting violence of American football, baseball is a gentle, leisurely game; in many ways it's the antithesis of all that's crass in modern American life. One commentator said that when US civilisation has passed it will be remembered for three great contributions: its Bill of Rights, jazz and baseball. I tend to agree.

Maybe it's just that we hit the US at a bad time. Maybe it's just that the New Deal US of Franklin D. Roosevelt long ago gave way to the heartless Chicago School economics of Ronald Reagan. As for the argument that the US is essentially an imperial power, well, it certainly feels like it from the inside.

Firstly, there is the militaristic cult of the modern US. Stationed, like Roman legionnaires, in countless overseas territories, the members of the army, navy and air force are worshipped like supermen, as if they were a higher order of citizen because they were abroad, "defending our freedoms".

Secondly, there is the belief that US citizenship is worth more than citizenship of other countries. Because many Americans believe that life in the US is superior to that in other countries, because they believe that the US is safer and more democratic than other nations, they feel that they are privileged to belong to "the greatest nation on earth". It is, of course, easy to maintain this belief, based as it is on ignorance of the outside world. Because Americans have so few holidays - about two weeks a year - they hardly ever travel abroad. Consequently, they know no reality other than their own.

They honeymoon in Hawaii or Alaska, and their national games are not played abroad, so even marriage and sport don't internationalise them. No wonder one American I met was so worried when I said I was relocating to Europe: he thought it was too dangerous, unlike the haven of his "homeland". He was too busy working to know any better.

As a freelance writer my experience of the US workplace was limited. But for Isabelle the long hours, the unpaid overtime and the fact that sick leave is deducted from your limited holidays meant that the quality of working life was low. Americans certainly spend far more time at work than Europeans. Many also have little security of employment. One woman we knew was given an hour to clear her desk after working with a company for seven years.

Of course, the upside is that salaries are higher. Food and accommodation cost about as much in Boston as they do in Ireland, so the better incomes make them more affordable. But the price exacted for that salary is too high. Work in the US takes over your life. Many of the people we knew had very poor social lives because of the hours they worked. They were too exhausted at the end of the day to do much at all - although one plus was that whatever social life they did have generally didn't involve developing an alcohol problem. In the US socialising involves activities other than drinking - something Isabelle certainly enjoyed as a Frenchwoman.

Something else in Americans' favour is their healthcare. If you have health cover there are no real waiting lists, cutting-edge technology is at your disposal and the doctors' expertise might well save your life. If you don't have cover, of course, you may be in serious trouble if you get sick. People on low incomes simply cannot afford treatment. And if you seek treatment without adequate cover don't be surprised if you have to remortgage your house. The cost of even a simple visit to the doctor is shocking to a European. Shocking too is that the receptionist may ask for your credit-card details before letting you in to the waiting room.

Yes, in the United States it's all about the almighty dollar. If you think likewise, then you'll love American life. But if you think that there's more to life, then maybe the gentler, more humane version of capitalism on offer in some European countries - not Ireland, particularly - will suit you better.

It would suit many Americans too. In poll after poll they say they favour universal healthcare, yet somehow it remains "politically impossible". Many Americans spoke out against the war, but they hardly made the airwaves. Quite simply, the US is not the monolith it appears from the outside. There is a great debate going on within the US. The only problem is that it's the prevailing foul wind of the neocons that's sweeping through the place right now.

So, 18 months on, Isabelle and I havemixed feelings about the United States. We were seduced and charmed by its people and culture but repulsed by the violence and reactionary intolerance of its current atmosphere. Certainly, individuals are very welcoming, but the society as a whole is anything but.

I suppose the most difficult thing is to say anything that's at all categorical about the United States. You can live your entire life through Spanish in the US, or through Chinese for that matter. It is a great country, with hospitable people and great cities, with stunning physical beauty and a progressive tradition of social change. Whether you're talking about Roe versus Wade, integrated education or the legalisation of gay marriage in Massachusetts, the US is much more than what Europeans stereotype it as.

As a society it is as tolerant as it is intolerant, and its ethnic diversity is one of its greatest strengths. Like Walt Whitman, its poet laureate, the US "contains multitudes". Yes, I hope there'll be a change in November, and, yes, I will miss it. But, for now at least, Mary Harney can have her imaginary Boston. I'll take Berlin.

The good . . .

Friendly people

Positive attitudes

Literature, jazz and baseball

Ethnic diversity

Higher salaries

Cutting-edge medicine

The New England fall

. . . the bad and the ugly

Biased media

Militaristic society

Working conditions

Arrogance

Neocons

Lack of universal healthcare

Boston's bone-chilling winters