The Irish art of going on holiday

This is a series of columns by Viktoriia Kantseva, a Ukrainian mother and immigrant living in Cavan. She is a certified psychologist and content creator with over 23,000 followers on TikTok alone...

One thing I have noticed since moving to Ireland is how often people talk about their holidays. My colleagues and I discuss holidays quite regularly at work. Someone is always telling us where they are going, someone has just come back, and Spain seems to be the popular choice. Mallorca, Alicante, Tenerife, Lanzarote — there is almost always someone counting down the days until they get some proper sunshine.

I also noticed quite quickly that holidays here are planned well in advance. If you want to take a particular week off during the summer, you probably shouldn’t wait until the last minute. People seem to know their holiday dates months before they actually arrive. I understand this much better now. I have just come back from a week in Mallorca, and after working 50 or sometimes 60 hours a week, it felt like a breath of fresh air. When life becomes a continuous loop of work, sleep, shopping, bills, and getting ready for the next shift, you get so used to the routine that you don’t even realise how exhausted you are.

Then you go away. For a week, you can sit with your coffee without checking the clock, wander down a street just because it looks pleasant, spend half a day by the sea, or have dinner late because there is no early start waiting for you the next morning.

Now, we’re spending the second week of our break at home. We are looking through hundreds of photos from Mallorca, ordering photobooks, unpacking, and slowly easing ourselves back into reality. Work hasn’t started yet, but you can already feel it looming in the distance.

Growing up in Odesa, I had a completely different relationship with holidays and the sea. Odesa is a resort city. Every summer, people flocked there from all over Ukraine. We had the sea, beaches, restaurants, promenades, and all the attractions travellers normally seek. But when you live in a place, you quickly stop seeing it through a tourist’s eyes.

When I lived there, I didn’t constantly go to the beach, buy souvenirs, or photograph the architecture. Some things were strictly "for tourists". I remember seeing people buying little shell trinkets and thinking, “Why would anyone buy that?”

Now, living in Ireland, I’ve become that person. In Mallorca, I wanted to photograph everything. I wanted to stroll along the promenade, sit by the water, and notice all the little details I would probably ignore if I lived there.

It made me think about Ireland, too. I sometimes wonder how many Irish people drive past places that tourists travel across the world to see without really noticing them. The mountains, the coastline, the small villages, and the views that make me pull the car over for a photo can easily become background noise when you see them every day.

Maybe this is what holidays give us: the chance to look at the world again with fresh eyes. Of course, a perfect break doesn't always have to involve a sunbed. I’ve always been drawn to mountains, and I’d love to see the Alps one day — to stand before the Matterhorn or Mont Blanc. And if I ever get the chance, Nepal feels like the ultimate destination for someone wanting to see the world from a completely different perspective.

So perhaps my idea of a getaway will keep evolving. Sometimes it might be a week in the sun doing very little. Sometimes it might be hiking through mountains with tired legs and a camera full of shots. And sometimes it might simply be staying at home for a few days, looking through memories, and slowly accepting that ordinary life is waiting for us.

For me, after weeks of long hours and endless task lists, a holiday has become a way of reclaiming a small piece of myself. Maybe that’s why I no longer smile knowingly at tourists buying souvenirs in places where locals just go about their day. One day you’re the local walking past the sea without looking, and the next, you’re the stranger taking photos of exactly the same water. Sometimes all it takes to appreciate a place again is to leave it behind for a little while.