Finding a Piece of Home in Tacoma
When I first move to a new city, the first two things I seek are not the area with the best school district, nor the lowest crime rate, but rather a fabulous coffee shop-cum-breakfast place and an Irish pub in which to watch my beloved Liverpool play in the English Premier League (EPL).
These are the things that truly make me feel at home.
My first visit to Tacoma was on a side jaunt from Seattle, straight off the late ferry from Vashon Island. My first impression therefore involved the words “port” and “dirty.” Bottom line: impressed I was not.
My second visit three months later wasn’t much more successful than my first. I swung by Doyle’s to see if there was any chance that they’d be playing the match but the waitress was unable to give me a straight answer, “We’re showing it, I just don’t know when.”
Rather than risk showing up early and finding it closed, I decided to brave the drive to Seattle to watch the 10am replay, even though several east coast friends text-messaged me the score before I got there.
When I made the move here at the beginning of June, I made a conscious effort to like Tacoma. I wanted to love Tacoma since, after all, I’d decided to move here.
When football season was upon us again, I’d not found an Irish pub to call home. Sure, they all served acceptable pints of Guinness and okay food but I sought the camaraderie one only found over a few pints and the sort of fight only resolved by one’s colours; the colours of one’s team.
A strange thing started to happen; I discovered that there were in fact other people in Tacoma just like me, thanks to the Forums on Exit133. Others were seeking a place to watch the match and call home. One name popped up again and again: Doyle’s.
I dragged my arse out of bed at some unconscionable hour on a Saturday morning and arrived at Doyle’s to find just four people: the bartender, two birds drinking Stella, and some bloke wearing my team’s jersey. A bit disappointed by the turnout, I settled in to watch the match and check out the scene. By the end of the match I’d become a member of the 100 pint club thanks to Steve, introduced myself to Russ, made sure I knew which team the other co-manager (Dave) supported, chatted with some talkative American who sat next to me at the bar, and also managed to insult a Villa fan.
My day was complete and Tacoma started to feel like somewhere I could call home.
Kimberley Tibbert moved to Tacoma in June from Washington DC. She’s also lived in Northamptonshire, England; Boston, Massachusetts; and Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Her first impressions of Tacoma are published here.