Sasha Piton

As she leaves her adopted home of Dublin behind for a new adventure, Irish-French-American Sasha Piton shares some parting insights on the Ireland that found her.

I’VE TRAVELLED TO Ireland a few times before, always drawn to the west, but this time feeling the pull to the east.

I got advice from every direction when I first arrived. People kept telling me to go west and that’s where the real Ireland was, they said, the wild coast, the quiet villages, the postcard version that’s absolutely breathtaking. But almost as often, I met people right here in the east who loved it fiercely, who couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

I met creatives building lives out of studios and small stages. I met other women who’d moved here recently too, still finding their footing the way I was, comparing notes on housing and where to get a decent coffee. And I met Dubliners, born and raised, who looked at me like the answer was obvious and said, this is the place. Somewhere in all those conversations, my gut got louder than the advice. I stayed east.

Americans often get told the west is the 'real' Ireland but my gut told me to look east. Shutterstock Shutterstock

My American accent gave me away everywhere I went, and it opened conversations I wasn’t expecting; people meeting my fresh start with real kindness, teaching me how to take a bus for the first time in my life, how to get a Leap card, which DART line platform I needed to be on. Somewhere in that same breath, every conversation turned to housing. How impossible it is, how expensive, and how long the waitlists are.

I sat on the train next to a 22 year old who shares a room with two other people just to afford living in this city while working full time. I’ve met people my own age still living at home, not because they want to but because independence has a price tag that’s astronomical.

And I recognised the stress in these conversations, because I watched it happen at home first; tax breaks that favour the already insanely wealthy, rents and mortgages climbing while wages are hanging out where they’ve been, ordinary people priced out of the place they grew up.

It’s not just the price tag, but it’s the math behind it.

Wages here haven’t kept pace with rent the way they need to, and new supply gets tangled in years of planning delays while demand keeps climbing. I’ve heard the same story again and again: a good job, a decent pay cheque, and still not enough to live alone in the city you work in.

That’s insane. And has nothing to do with someone’s success. That’s a system doing exactly what it was built to do. I’ve seen this movie and I know how it ends.

The other side of losing that battle to resist

What gives me hope is that people here aren’t numb to it yet. There’s still a real fight in how people talk about it and you believe that pressure on leadership can move the needle in the right direction. I want that! I’ve seen the other side of losing that battle, a country where profit finds its way into everything. Not just housing but the food on your plate and the ground it’s grown in.

Ireland just approved a new data centre. More wealth concentrated for a few at the cost of jobs, resources, and the communities living around it. I hope Ireland finds a way to hold onto that fight before it’s too late.

But for everything I see here that’s straining, my time in Ireland has also shown me what this culture gets quietly and remarkably right. It’s healed something in my own nervous system, too.

When I first arrived I felt such anxiety and stress while eating at a restaurant because I have been trained to eat quickly and clear the table so the server can get to their next guests and make money. But here, there is no rush.

It was hard to just be at first. I was stressing, looking for the waiters, wondering how they’re not trying to get me out of there. It took me weeks to understand that the table is yours for a while. No one is circling. No one needs you to leave to turn over the table. Servers aren’t working on tips combined with speed and you can feel that in every part of the meal.

Nothing is rushed because it doesn’t have to be.

This last weekend, I met up with friends in the city centre and we ended up at Pichet on Trinity Street and I noticed a serenity in myself that wasn’t previously there. We sat for hours eating, drinking, talking, and laughing. What a gift. To just be present and enjoy good food, good company, and a beautiful dining experience. Dublin really does ambiance so well! I’ve come to deeply enjoy mood lighting, beautiful table scapes, and the rhythm of the meal because it’s built around staying, not turnover. I don’t want to eat any other way again.

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Taking time over a dining table in Dublin. Shutterstock Shutterstock

That unhurried spirit isn’t just at the table, but also it shows up in how this country treats its artists.

One thing I find wonderful and unusual here: creativity is valued before it’s profitable. So many countries treat art as something you monetise or abandon.

But here, art is active and alive, seen as essential rather than a hobby to apologise for.

It’s woven into community life in a way I haven’t experienced before.

Just recently I wandered into a studio and found an artist mid charcoal portrait of a jazz band. A man mid-note on the saxophone, drawn in seemingly effortless strokes. His hands were smudged black, but his button-down stayed crisp under his apron. Around him, the walls held finished pieces, some in colour, lit like a small gallery.

Art exists without having to prove its worth

I stood there longer than I meant to. I’ve stopped being surprised by moments like that because it’s not rare here, but just a Sunday. I love that art exists without having to prove its worth first. I’ve always felt that way, but after being here, seeing it, feeling it, I will never doubt it.

Six months ago I landed here with a hope, a dream, and a housing plan that had already fallen through. I didn’t know yet how much this country would teach me. About slowing down at a table, about taking creativity seriously, about what it looks like when people still believe their fight can change something.

Ireland isn’t perfect, and it knows it better than anyone. But it protects the right things more than it gets credit for. And something tells me this island and I aren’t finished working together yet.