When I was younger I thought “expat” was a uniquely Irish term. In some ways, maybe, that’s true. For me “expat” is an identity in itself. It’s not about travelling: it’s about being at home on the fringes. Finding home away from home.
I live in a small town in rural Jutland, a fishing village turned tourist town way out on the west coast of Denmark. With a population of about 15,000, Lemvig is a serene scenic spot on a fjord.
I met my wife, a wonderful, shining light of a person, in Dublin. She had moved to Ireland from Denmark to complete her master’s degree and spend some time in a land with which she had a long-standing cultural affinity. Danes have a love of Irish culture that would surprise most Irish people.
We moved to London together and spent five happy, hectic years there. At the start of year five we had our first daughter. That felt like a bell ringing: time to go. The question of where to go next was a tricky one. Ireland was still in the grip of recession. My brother was in London, my sister in Australia, and I felt no great longing for home.
We started looking at Denmark. My wife was offered a permanent teaching job within weeks. For me the challenge was to get a job and learn the language. One would surely follow the other. It’s only the ninth most complicated language in the world.
Free language classes were a positive start. These came with the allocation of a CPR, or national ID, number. The CPR system is the most astonishingly efficient you are likely to encounter. My CPR gives me access to almost every public service, including the doctor, pharmacy, library, tax, insurance, job services, payslips and welfare systems.
If you need a prescription you can phone your doctor, who will issue a digital prescription. Ten minutes later you can walk into a pharmacy, scan your CPR card and collect your meds.
Denmark is time and again voted the world’s happiest nation. The country is by no means perfect, with immigration reform high on the agenda even before the current crisis, as the country swings from a liberal-socialist to a centre-right government. But there is a truth in there. We want simple things: a long and happy life in the company of the people we love. (The Danish government puts huge amounts of money into education, healthcare and welfare, and therein lies the rub: you have little to worry about privately, and so can live very contentedly, but income tax is relatively high.)
I cracked the language. (It’s not as hard as it sounds.) I made friends. I joined local clubs, and I volunteer at a cinema. I found a job I love. I live in a beautiful, cosy old house with my wonderful wife and our two wonderful daughters.
Ireland is still hugely important to us. Both of my girls have Irish passports. We speak English at home, and my eldest, who is now three, communicates well with her Irish family. This summer we will take a four-week holiday in Ireland, to explore places I’ve never visited. The Danish parental-leave system is letting me discover Ireland in a way I would never have had had we lived there.
Ireland and I have plenty of adventures to look forward to. My girls will see Ireland on my terms and perhaps one day will discover it on their own. Now, though, Denmark is home. I have found a place where my family and I are happy.
