I moved to Toronto in April 2024 from a small town in the west of Ireland. Since then, I’ve been struck by some notable differences between Canadians and Irish people.
To be fair, our two countries share quite a few common traits. We both have our own national sports, both have a neighbour that constantly tries to overshadow us, and both have a well-earned reputation for being friendly and polite.
We also both complain about the weather, thrive on social connection, and rarely take ourselves too seriously.
However, living here in Canada has also highlighted some clear contrasts. Some are small and amusing; others were a genuine culture shock at first.
The humour
Canadians are known for their dry, self-deprecating humour. I always enjoy my interactions with Canadians, but sometimes my Irish sarcasm doesn’t quite land the way I expect.
I often make sarcastic jokes, and Canadians often take them at face value. That’s partly because Irish people are masters of deadpan delivery — we can say something completely ridiculous with a straight face. Unless you’re in on it, it’s easy to miss the joke.
In Ireland, humour is a way of life. We joke about everything, especially the things that make us uncomfortable. Confrontation isn’t exactly our strong suit, so humour becomes a coping mechanism. And nowhere is that more evident than in the pub, where « slagging » (good-natured teasing) is practically a national sport.
Slagging can get very personal. And, although it’s all in good fun, to an outsider it might feel a bit harsh. That’s where Canadians sometimes struggle. Canadian humour tends to be more polite and there’s an invisible line you guys are careful not to cross.
That said, Canadians are genuinely hilarious — there’s a reason some of the world’s greatest comedians came from the ten provinces and three territories: Jim Carrey, Mike Myers, Norm Macdonald, John Candy, Dan Aykroyd, and Phil Hartman, to name just a few.
It’s not that one country has a better sense of humour, it’s just a different style. And learning to navigate those differences has been one of the most fascinating (and funny) parts of living here for me.
The slang
After just a few weeks of living in Canada, I quickly realized that Canadian slang is a whole different language compared to Irish slang.
I remember standing outside a bar in Toronto when a Canadian came over and asked my friend, « Hey, could I bum a cigarette for a toonie? »
My Irish friend and I just looked at each other, completely confused — until we saw the person pull a $2 coin out of their pocket. That was my first introduction to the concept of loonies and toonies.
Since then, I’ve come across numerous slang terms that either don’t exist in Ireland or have a completely different meaning.
In Ireland, we have a term called craic (pronounced the same as « crack »), which is Hiberno-English for fun or good times. So when I say, « I had great craic at the bar last night, » it’s about laughter and good company, not anything illegal. But try telling that to a Canadian and watch the eyebrows rise!
There are plenty more differences like that. In Canada, people say « give’r », in Ireland, we’d say « give it socks. » Canadians often end sentences with « eh? »; in parts of Ireland, the equivalent phrase is « aye. »
And hydro really threw me off. In Ireland, we say… well, electricity!
Then there’s « hoser, » a classic Canadian insult that essentially means fool or idiot. In Ireland, we have no shortage of equivalents: eejit, dope, or gobs***e come to mind.
What I love is that, even though we often say the same thing, we use entirely different words to express it. It’s part of the fun of adapting to life in another country — every day, you learn a little more of the local lingo.
Roadtrips
Canada is massive, and for the Irish mind, it’s honestly hard to grasp at first. I come from a small island with a population of around 7 million, which its size is tiny compared to most Canadian provinces.
Take this: the entire island of Ireland is about 84,000 square kilometres. Ontario, where I now live, spans over 1 million square kilometres. You could fit Ireland into Ontario more than 12 times — and still have room left over.
One thing that always makes me laugh is when a Canadian says something like, « Oh yeah, our cottage is only two hours away. » Only?! In Ireland, a two-hour drive is practically a cross-country expedition.
For example, it takes me about two and a half hours to drive from my hometown, Tuam, Co. Galway, to Dublin. That’s almost crossing the country.
But if I were to leave Toronto in my car, after two and a half hours, I might still be in the GTA (I joke). Drive east like I would from Tuam, and I wouldn’t even be in Kingston yet.
Canadians are just built differently when it comes to distance. They’re used to long drives, long roads, and long weekends away where « close by » still means packing snacks and filling the tank.
I recently came across a TikTok that really put it into perspective: St. John’s, Newfoundland, is closer to Africa and Europe in terms of distance than it is to Vancouver. That blew my mind.
Living here has made me realize just how compact and accessible Ireland really is, as well as how space shapes culture. In Canada, vastness is normal. In Ireland, we call that a full day out and expect a cup of tea and a lie down afterwards.
Drinking culture
Canadians enjoy their alcohol, but Irish people take it to a whole other level.
One thing I’ve noticed since moving here is that Canadians tend to drink more socially — a couple of beers or cocktails with a meal, usually on a sunny patio, and then they head home after two or three drinks. It’s civilized and measured.
In Ireland, well… let’s say moderation isn’t exactly our cultural strong suit when it comes to drink. Like it or not, binge-drinking is much more ingrained in Irish life. It’s become somewhat of a stereotype, and unfortunately, there’s some truth to it.
Back home, everything revolves around the pub. If the sun comes out? « Beer garden? » If it’s raining? « Ah, sure, we’ll go for a pint. » Cold out? « We’ll sit by the fire with a Guinness. » Wild wind? « It blew me straight into the pub! »
No matter the occasion — birthdays, wakes, communions, Tuesdays — the pub is the hub. It’s where stories are told, slagging happens, music breaks out, and nobody ever stays for just one. The running gag is you’d go for 1-2 pints, but it always turns into 3-4 or 5-6.
The contrast here is striking. In Canada, there’s a strong culture around moderation and balance. In Ireland, we tend to go hard or go home (or more likely, go hard and then go home at 3 a.m. with a fast food takeout).
And while the Irish government seems determined to shut down every rural pub in the country — well, that’s a rant for another day.
Politeness
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Irish people are known for being polite — it’s one of the reasons we have such a strong tourism industry. Visitors, especially from the U.S., love coming to Ireland in the summer, and part of that draw is the warm welcome they get.
It’s built into our national identity — céad míle fáilte, or « a hundred thousand welcomes. » We take pride in showcasing the best of Ireland, going the extra mile to ensure people feel at home.
But as friendly as we are, Canadians take the biscuit. I’ve been genuinely blown away by how lovely, kind, and sincere Canadian people are.
That whole « sorry » stereotype? It’s 100% real. A Canadian could pass you on the street with a full metre of space between you, and still apologize. Sometimes it feels like you could bump into a Canadian and they’d say sorry for being in your way.
What’s funny is that it doesn’t even seem deliberate — it’s almost instinctive, like muscle memory. And while Americans often joke about it, I find that level of kindness refreshing. Imagine being ridiculed for being courteous and considerate? If that’s Canada’s national flaw, I’ll take it!
Driving behaviour
While I just finished waxing lyrical about how friendly Canadians are, it’s like all of that politeness gets left at the curb the moment they get behind the wheel.
Maybe it’s just a Toronto thing, but Canadians seem to love honking their horns, often at the slightest inconvenience.
I was driving recently when the light turned green, and I swear, not even a full second had passed before the driver behind me laid on the horn. One split second — not enough time to blink, never mind move — and I was already being honked at.
In Ireland, the horn is practically sacred. We’d only use it if someone made a genuinely dangerous move or, more commonly, if we spotted someone we knew walking down the street and wanted to say hello.
The idea of aggressively honking at someone for not moving immediately on a green light feels so… un-Canadian. Especially considering that the same person would probably apologize profusely five minutes later if they accidentally brushed against you at Tim Hortons.
It’s a funny contradiction: friendly to a fault on foot, a bit ruthless behind the wheel.
Milk
In Ireland, the dairy industry is thriving, and milk is a staple in nearly every household. We’re used to seeing it in plastic jugs, cartons, and occasionally glass bottles — all perfectly normal.
But nothing prepared me for milk in a bag.
When I first saw it in Canada, I genuinely thought it was a joke. A bag? Of milk? What if it bursts in your shopping bag? What if you drop it? Where does it go once it’s open? There are just too many questions and not enough trust.
To this day, I’ve never bought a bag of milk here. I’m too scared. I don’t care how many people swear by it, I’m sticking to the safety of the carton.
Sports
In Canada, sport is a religion.
It’s no different in Ireland — except instead of hockey, we have the GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association), one of the largest amateur sporting organizations in the world.
It governs our two national games: Gaelic football and hurling. And make no mistake — Irish people live and breathe the GAA just as passionately as Canadians do their hockey.
The GAA is deeply woven into the fabric of Irish life. It’s the beating heart of villages, towns, and cities across the country. Clubs are often built by generations of local families, and the pride people feel for their county rivals any international rivalry.
Of the two sports, hurling draws the closest comparison to hockey. Both are fast, physical, and deeply rooted in their heritage. Both use sticks — hurls and hurleys in hurling, of course — and both stir a deep, almost tribal kind of passion in the fans who follow them.
The only key difference is that hurling is played on grass, and the players don’t get paid — it’s amateur, even at the highest level. Yet the commitment and intensity are just as fierce.
Later this month, 82,300 people will pack into Croke Park in Dublin on both days to watch the All-Ireland hurling and football finals. They’re two of the biggest days in the Irish calendar and a massive source of national pride, just as the Stanley Cup Finals are here in Canada.
Two different sports. Two different countries. But the same fierce love and loyalty. That’s the power of sport, no matter where you are.
One of the key differences is that Toronto Maple Leafs‘ captain Auston Matthews received a salary of US$13.25 million in the 2024-25 NHL season. Any player who lines out in the GAA finals will also receive expenses for their travel.
Tipping
Tipping culture in Canada is absolutely wild at the moment.
It varies from province to province, but in Ontario, you’ll regularly see suggested tips of 18%, 20%, 22%, and even 25% — and that’s after tax, unlike in Quebec, where tips are calculated before tax.
There are a few things I find frustrating about tipping here. More often than not, it feels expected, rather than something you give in recognition of genuinely good service.
I have no issue tipping in bars or restaurants where someone is taking your order, delivering food or drinks, and offering actual service. But when you’re at the Rogers Centre paying for an already expensive can of beer from someone behind a counter, and they flip the tablet around asking for an 18-25% tip? That’s where I draw the line.
In Ireland, tipping is much simpler and far less emotionally charged. You don’t tip at the bar after every drink. It’s just not required or expected. You might leave a cash tip after a meal if you felt the food and service were genuinely good. But it’s not ingrained in the culture in the same way.
And honestly, that’s the right way to go about it. Tips should be earned, not automatically added on or guilted out of people.
Tipping should feel like a thank you, not a surcharge.
Differences aside, I’m so proud to call both these great countries my home!
The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
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