Thank You!

Thank you to all the readers! Some of you I know, some not... Quite a few people from some unexpected countries: Sweden, Germany, India...

Thanks for all the good feedback, but most of all for READING!

Readers of the past month...

Day 40: Reflections

Here we are: forty days in Australia. We have landed, struggled and slept through jet-lag, been welcomed by family, swept up in the excitement of Christmas and New Year, then started the process of job search and interviews. We have been 'processed' by banks and government and telephone companies... And we took a peek into what life in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane would mean. We have seen mountains, rivers, sea, forest... and seasons change in a day.

Already we are used to seeing houses with low or no walls around, we drive without locked doors, we walk down streets or around suburbs any time of day, and I am ALMOST getting used to coming to a complete STOP at stop-streets without getting nervous. 

Shopping for simple things like groceries still take double the time as my 8.5 times table need some more practice. But my eye for spotting a good special has definitely improved drastically! (Especially when it involves getting two slabs of Lindt for $5!)

I get a bit restless around 2.30pm as I know friends and family in South Africa should start waking up. I get more restless around 4pm as they REALLY should be up and about by then. 

At times I find myself thinking about the life in South Africa that we left behind. Only at times, as otherwise it would be overbearing and would keep me from looking forward. I miss my woolly furry creature, but more than that I am grateful for the happy home he has now: with kids to play with all day instead of waiting for the day to pass so we can get home.

I find myself not so much sad about leaving, but sad about the conversations I didn't have, the people I didn't spend more time with, the people I didn't get to know better while I was there and had the chance. People you see in your normal day-to-day activities, the familiar faces that fill up the tapestry of 'life'.

Then I look forward, and I see a vastness of opportunities - almost overwhelming at times. Choices that we still have to make - but where there is choice there is freedom and will, and the chance to change or build new things. I start thinking of new challenges to put myself to, new goalposts.

And I wonder if I can make time to learn some Mazurkas to play at the Polish Place. Plus maybe a Polonaise or two...

Day 39: Who is the Aussie?

Australia Day. The official word on Australia Day is as follows: On Australia Day we come together as a nation to celebrate what's great about Australia and being Australian. It's the day to reflect on what we have achieved and what we can be proud of in our great nation. 

On Australia Day, over half of the nation’s population attend either an organised community event, or get together with family and friends with the intention of celebrating our national day. Many more spend the public holiday relaxing with family and friends.

A friend of the family was terribly shocked earlier this week when asking me what our plans were for Australia day, and I initially replied 'Nothing special, I think.' Upon realising my mistake, I did remember the family mentioned having a barbeque together, although I didn't realise it was a special event barbeque. 

In South Africa that would be called a 'Braai', even if you're English-speaking, and of course it would be on a real fire. So then, I can relate to the day after all, even not being Australian. It sounds very much like National Braai Day in South Africa. Except, of course, that it is not officially celebrated, though the sentiment behind it is quite similar. 

Not surprisingly, I have found myself thinking about the Australian identity multiple times over the past few weeks. Many South Africans have asked me, 'What is Australia like?' and then a bit more cautious, 'What are the Australians like?' 

For a start, no-one has hit me over the head with a bat simply because I'm South African. To be blatantly honest, Australians living in Australia seem to like South Africans living in Australia more, than South Africans in South Africa does Australians in Australia. (Now I expect a few people would want to hit me over the head with that bat! But it is simply my observation.)

More pertinent for me, what does it mean to be 'Australian'? In an attempt to start answering this question - as no doubt it will take longer than a few weeks to do that - I first have to identify the group I'm studying. It should be easy: Find Australians, get to know them. 

The first 'Australians' I met, I immediately discarded. They are family, or extended family-in-law. Or friends of my husband. Yes, they are Australian citizens, but in my mind they are all still very much South African. The neighbours? Hm... the one is a smuggler and the other Bulgarian. Originally, that is. Friendly lady at the bank? Nope, New Zealander. Even on our morning drive up Mt Tamborine, we found The Polish Place!

Yes, we have also met the Bruce's and Sheila's - the real Australians - remarkably friendly and helpful people. But are they the only real Australians? Isn't part of the identity of Australians, exactly the fact that one in four were born elsewhere? 

And so I close with two photographs: The one from Australia, the other from South Africa. But which is which?

Day 38: Smug, Smuggler...

Ils ont découvert avec stupéfaction que leur guide de voyage était un contrebandier.
They were astonished to discover that their travel guide was a smuggler.

I cannot help to wonder where the people from French Word of the Day get their sentences from. And who picks the word, for that matter. If there are 365 new words to be learnt as a reasonably beginner French student, would smuggler really be one of them? Would I go to France, and ask where I can find a smuggler? Or look at the bus driver and ask him, are you a smuggler? Hm... maybe it would be useful to be able to deny that I am NOT a smuggler. But then I can think of a whole list of words that would need to be added to my list of vocabulary if that is the rationale!

These are some of the thoughts that made their way into my consciousness today. At some point even thoughts about rain, more rain, lots more rain and then the inevitable thoughts of floods had to make space for something else. It is quite challenging though: the water levels keep raising, some roads are flooded, others almost flooded, some schools are even closed, and anyone in a house close to water is watching the water level with a careful eye. In the Gold Coast, that is just about everybody.

Hence it didn't take long for the two red-and-yellow canoes floating up the canal, to be spotted. (Yes, floating UP, as the water levels are still raising.) As I was standing on the porch, watching the canoes, taking a picture and waiting for thoughts other than rain and water to enter my mind, I suddenly saw the neighbour frantically trying to get my attention and pointing at the canoes. Gosh, they must be hers! I hurried over to where she was standing next to the water with a long pool broom.

"They are coming this way! We can pull them up just now!" She was quite agitated. It must be terrible watching your belongings float in the river. But just as she predicted, the canoes were coming closer fairly steadily, and with some more long-handled pool equipment, we soon managed to pull them ashore.
I looked at our neighbour. She was visibly happy. No, she was beaming!
"There, you take that one now." She pushed the one canoe in my direction. What? I can't do that!! I protested.
"Finder's keepers, lovey!"

The truth slowly dawned over me.

And she looked.... SMUG!

Canoes floating up the canal

Day 37: The Entertainer

It is a good thing that I'm not an ostrich today - it would be impossible to find any piece of dry sand to bury my head in. It has rained cats and dogs, old women with clubs, men, some frogs... and still it rains. And judging by the rainfall patterns, it is going to keep on raining well into February.

The rain does not deter Aussies from going out and having some fun though! On the contrary, it inspired some inventive blokes who happened to own a boogie board, pulley system with a long rope and a short ramp, to make good use of the flood water next to the road. This to great entertainment of the small crowd which has spontaneously gathered next to the road in expectation of at least one spectacular fall. With some disjointed encouragement from the bystanders they tried again and again to achieve a passable waterski and jump off the ramp. 

Ironically enough, it would be less entertaining to watch if they simply succeeded. The true entertainer would either woo the crowd by progressively outdoing himself, OR by performing a vast array of nearly successful attempts, with each one just being the slightest bit closer to success than the previous one. Of course, the MASTER entertainer would keep this up for exactly as long as he intended, building up the tension to unbearable heights... and then finally allow the audience to let out the breath they've been holding by finishing off in one grandly executed leap of triumph.

Now the fact that I considered burying my head in the sand today - provided of course that I could transform into an ostrich - should give some indication to the outcome of The Test. The good news is that statistics can still be trusted, and as such, we maintained the 50% pass-rate at Southport and husband is now the proud holder of the Document that Defines your Identity in Australia. 

(It still defies all logic that the same document in South Africa is only good for one thing: driving. Despite it bearing a photo AND fingerprint of the bearer, it is very often of no use proving your identity. Especially to banks! They need the Identity Document, which has no fingerprint, no barcode, and more often than not a very unrepresentative photograph...)

The only really bad news today is that I came to the realisation that I'm not much of an entertainer at heart after all. I will be perfectly happy to pass my test at the second attempt, and then never repeating it again!!

Rain in Queensland

Day 35: Drive, Mrs Lamb!

Today I am struck by a bit of atypical nervousness. I went for a driving lesson. And if that was a driving test, I would have failed. Twice. That is not exactly how I envisioned the experience, to be honest.

I mean... I am generally a careful driver, I don't take chances, I give way when I should, I don't speed. Well not too much. 'Speed' is a matter of perception, really. If I consistently drove 60km/h in Johannesburg streets I wouldn't have had any speeding tickets. If I do the same here, I would lose my license, or simply not get it. It is REALLY hard to drive 50km/h downhill!

Then there's the roundabouts. We don't have them in South Africa. I remember seeing something similar in some town one day, and I think Pretoria has two, but not near anywhere I used to drive. An in any case, they're not roundabouts. They're circles. Or traffic circles, if you must. What type of name is 'roundabout' for anything? Just imagine someone saying: I'm going to take a driveabout the roundabout before I go for a walkabout!

Well in my defense, I didn't fail anything about the roundabouts. Even in a 4WD it would be hard to drive OVER them - common practice for some circles in Gauteng - since these ones are not merely paint on the road, but proper circles with lawn and trees and occasionally a kangaroo in the middle. I mean, proper roundabouts.

Then there is the parking issue - which once again, will most likely be fine as I won't be driving a 4WD. So I should be able to control the urge to drive up and over curbs. And strangely enough, the driving instructor was very perturbed when I asked about doing a reverse parking manœuvre on the RIGHT-hand side. 'Why on earth would you want to do that??' I have wondered about that many times years ago when I had to master that tricksy one myself. Of course that is for parking that side in a one-way street.
But apparently it isn't required in Australia. Smile. And neither is parallel parking. Another smile.

Then there was just the little issue of the 'Busses-only' sign. Mental note to self: If instructor instructs to go left and sign says no cars, don't follow instructions. That's a tough one. The sign can't hit me over the head for disobeying instructions.

As the instructor and I parted ways, he gave me another piece of valuable information: the South Port testing station is much more difficult than Helensvale. There are roadworks, unexpected signs, missing stop-street signs, and a pass rate of only 50% compared to 70% at Helensvale.
And yes, we are booked to go for our tests at South Port.

But that's fine, really, I know how statistics work. It means if me and my husband take the test, one of us will likely fail. So if I could get my husband to fail, statistically speaking I would have a better chance to succeed. Sigh. Not really an option... On the other hand... Let's say I were to fail, just maybe, maybe, I could get a chauffeur...

Driving Mrs Lamb...

Day 34: Living the Dream

Coming 'home' after our trip to Sydney and Melbourne, also came with a bit of a shock to the system: the holiday is over. Well at least for one of us - my husband started a contract position with one of the bigger companies in Brisbane. The shock to the system came as we were preparing for the first day at work, and realised work shirts don't iron themselves while hanging in the cupboard.
Wife suddenly have a bit less free time on her hands...

There's nothing like a bit of physical labour to get the mind going though, and I soon started musing about our recent experiences in this new country. We have seen three cities, met new people, and had a tiny peek into what life in Australia is about.

But... what does it really mean to 'live the dream'?

Life on the Gold Coast could certainly fit that description for many people: live in a spacious house with a garden, lots of waterways, beaches right next to parks with barbeque facilities open to anyone, and an extra two hours of sleep every day on the train to Brisbane. That is if you don't mind a slightly bumpy sleep, and sacrificing a bit of dignity. If you DO want to preserve last-mentioned, you get two hours of reading, working uncomfortably on a LAPtop, or daydreaming.

My view on Brisbane is unfortunately somewhat unreliable, as this is the first city that I got to experience in Australia (two years ago now), and would therefore always have that untouchable 'first-love' spot in my heart. It's not the biggest, not the bussiest, not the smallest, nor the richest, probably not the most of anything... but even strangers are friendly and they have a conservatory of music right next to a big park. That counts something in my books.

Now Sydney - there's one big and busy city! Everything seems to run on very oiled wheels - down to the double-decker, air-conditioned trains. I had the feeling there's a place for anyone and everyone SOMEwhere in that big hive, if you look long and hard enough. That feeling was confirmed one day as we waited for a train in one of the underground stations... As I was looking at the big adverts on the station wall, some movement on the tracks caught my eye. I looked more carefully... a rat! A track-rat, I guess you could call him. And judging by his size, he is quite a train wise creature, to have survived such a literal rat-race for that long!

On the opposite side of educational levels, you can take a stroll through Hyde Park, and at almost any hour of day you are bound to find creatures of a different kind: the kind that plays chess, in a park, for FUN. Moreover, you find some other creatures who find it entertaining to WATCH a game of chess in the park! And yes... I am one of them. You can not blame me when the game is accompanied by running commentary from one of the players: 

Mamma Mia!!! That's a power move! Watch and learn, kids, watch and learn... Chess is easy! You want to take my pawn? You want to take it?? Yes! Push it, push it! ... What? You put me in check??

Chess players in Hyde Park, Sydney

And then there's Melbourne. City of street musicians, charming cafés and hidden alleyways. A city where you find streets lined with old buildings - proud, aristocratic buildings. Where you find rooftop cinemas, would-be and have-been artists literally painting the streets, and Vivaldi's Four Seasons aptly accompanying the changing weather of the moment. A city where street and art meets, where people still dream of becoming more than just another piece of mechanism in a big machine. 

Where are we going to end up? Where do we want to be? Where do we want to live our dream? At this moment, it is still a question that will be answered in due time. Maybe it has already been answered, we just don't know it yet.

Maybe part of the answer lies in the words of William Hennessy: Do what you love with all your might, and so find your place in the world - joyfully, abundantly and free from the guilt that you should be elsewhere, affirmed that you are actually where you belong.

(Loosely quoted)

Day 32: Who has more Weather?

I was planning to write about the meaning of life, love and everything else today, but the weather got me distracted!

The comment about London got me wondering: how DOES London weather compare to Melbourne? More than once I have heard people say, 'Why do you want to go live in Melbourne? You might as well go to London!'

Well..... let the numbers speak...

Melbourne, Cape Town & London: Temperature and Rainfall (Jan - Dec)

Summer: London only has 3 months with average max temperatures above 20ºC, where Melbourne has 6, Cape Town 8. Melbourne does get a bit hotter at times though than CT or London...

Winter: Average minimum temperatures during winter are very similar between Melbourne and Cape Town - and these all above 5ºC. London winters are MUCH colder and longer - average minimum below 5ºC for 5 months! (And of course the record minimum drops to -10ºC...)

Also note the avg maximum winter temperature in London is also about 5º colder than Melbourne!

Sunshine: Cape Town wins hands down on the sunshine hours though - not surprisingly. But Melbourne still beats London!

Day 31: Weather Comparison

Today a bit of analysis. There's nothing quite like numbers to prove a point - numbers in themselves are unbiased - it's how we INTERPRET them that creates debate!

For the comparison below, we are looking at the Average High / Low, Record High / Low and Average Rainfall (not on the same scale as the temperatures!!)

It is a common believe that Sydney's weather the most closely resembles the weather we are used to in South Africa, but after seeing the graphs, I will take such statements with a pinch of salt. No major city in South Africa has close to the rainfall of Sydney!

However, of all the cities Brisbane and Durban are the most similar in both temperature and rainfall, with the Gold Coast a close comparison.

Somewhat surprising (for me at least), Perth and Cape Town not only has similar trends, but are also closer in temperature than Perth compared to the other cities.

Lastly, Melbourne is not THAT bad, but it's also not 'like Cape Town, just more so'. Winter lows doesn't drop as low as Johannesburg / Pretoria, though it rains consistently throughout the year, but still has 2000 sunshine hours. It's maybe just the big difference between the recorded highs and avg maximum temperature in summer that signifies how... hm... temperamental the weather really is!

There really is no city quite like Melbourne...

Temperature and Rainfall patterns - January to December

Weather comparison legend

All data sourced from Wikipedia.

Edit: Yearly Rainfall graph edited to zero-based.

Day 30: The purpose of work

Going out for lunch must be one of the compelling reasons why people work in a place like Melbourne. And with 'going out', I literally mean, going OUT. Out to enjoy the beauty of one of the beautiful parks close to the city centre. (That's assuming of course, that at some point of Melburnion life you get tired of shopping during your lunch-break. Or more likely, that certain budgetary considerations put constraints on exactly HOW many times per week you can do that.) The point remains, having a lunch-break is almost as good a reason as any to have a job.

That is the first conclusion I came to after meandering through Fitzroy Gardens today shortly after 12. The gardens are simply beautiful: huge trees, green stretches of lawn, lush greenery, criss-cross pathways and multiple ponds tucked away between the greenery.

As an added bonus, you are bound to find some activity that you can involve yourself in - apart from eating lunch. There are people jogging, some others getting a session of personal training, even a group of elderlies practicing Tai Chi. The are ducks to feed (or chase if you're under 3 years old), a conservatory to hide between flowers, and of course a multitude of other people to observe. I am sure there must even be some hidden artists there as well. They are everywhere in Melbourne. They ARE Melbourne.

Another stroller in Fitzroy Gardens... did he bring lunch?

As can be expected, all this watching people exercise and eat lunch, gradually took its toll on us, and very soon the hunger-pangs drove us back to the streets in search of a bite. We headed off to the one street we know to have Things Happening. Collins street. Which brings me to my second conclusion: if you have enough clothes, you need less food.

There is conclusive evidence walking down Collins street in support of this theory.

As we started walking down from the park's side, we found ourselves flanked by one designer boutique after the other. Prada, Hermes, Gucci... to name but a few!!! Every window we looked at a-glitter and glam with price tags I would happily pay - if they were in Rands. The street was crowded by men in suits and women wearing high heels and flaunting handbags worthy of the street we're in. Only one thing was amiss: none of them were carrying any lunch boxes, or any signs of having eaten lunch at all.

Progressing through this rue magnifique, I started feeling a sense of despair. There are no restaurants. No little cafes. Not even a doughnut shop. Only fashion outlet with door guards wearing suits and earpieces after the other. I would even welcome sight of the golden arch!

I started looking at the people passing by more closely. Please! just any sign of food! But no, they have higher things on their minds. They are filled with thoughts of haute couture.

I sighed in deep relief. On occasion some people have commented on the size of my wardrobe, or expressed genuine surprise that I NEED another jacket, or pair of shoes. Don't I have enough already?

But clearly, if I can walk down Paris-lane with the main thought in my head being FOOD, I still have a long, long way to go before anyone can accuse me of being a couturista!

Location:Melbourne

Day 29: Beware the Rhino!

More than any of the other cities we visited so far, the past few days in Melbourne showed us very clearly that we are not in South Africa any more. Australia is different. There are some very everyday things that we will have to get used to, even if they don't make total sense...

Hook turns. I have mentioned these crazy go-left-when-you-want-to-turn-right maneuvers before, and they still befuddle me. I still have the urge to point and giggle every time I see someone executing such a turn, especially since no-one else seem to be surprised by it!

Australian English. I have to work on my understanding of this one quite urgently. I am beginning to think Australian is really more like French than English. Some letters just don't get pronounced, even though they exist in the written word. And other times the pronunciation is just totally different than what you expect: 'year' becomes 'yee', at least I have that one!

Maybe I need to watch some Australian TV-series. With subtitles. In English, of course. 

Brisbane is East of Sydney, which is East of Melbourne. Yes, anyone looking at a map can see that. BUT, and this is where it gets a bit strange, both Melbourne and Sydney are an hour ahead in time of Brisbane. Well yes, it is only in the summer months, as they observe DST and Brisbane not. But just imagine if you live in Brisbane, and have kids. Every year, you watch the Sydney Fireworks on TV, and then only an hour later, you get to see the real ones. One day, they come to you with Google maps opened, and an expression of disillusionment on their faces. "Mommy, why does Sydney have New Year's Fireworks before us? It's not RIGHT!"

Thongs. Well, rather the fact that you can talk about your thongs in front of strangers, or kids. You can even ask your 4-year old niece if she remembered to bring hers. Because in Australia, you wear them on your feet!

Zebra crossings. In South Africa zebras roam around in game reserves, not cities. It's therefore also reasonable to expect them to cross the roads there. Black-and-white painted stripes on a road doesn't have anything to do with zebras, and therefore you are not expected to wait for anything to cross the road there. If you ARE a pedestrian, it will be rather suicidal if you just start walking and expect the traffic to magically stop for you.

And lastly, Rhinos on skateboards!

Day 27: Walking... Sydney to Melbourne

It is amazing how quickly one can adapt to new surroundings. Back in South Africa, a HAT was something buried quite deep in the back of my cupboard, reserved for taking out once or twice a year for holiday. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of sun in Joburg, but by mostly travelling by car, one doesn't get much incidental exposure to it.

This all changed very quickly in a city where using public transport is a way of life, and walking is the means of getting from front door to station, and station to everywhere else. So I quickly got into the habit of hat-wearing around the streets of Sydney.

Well-prepared... for Sydney!

As such, I felt quite prepared for Melbourne as I added a scarf, light jersey and umbrella to my list of everyday things. After all, everyone knows you get all four seasons in one day in Melbourne! What I REALLY should have added is a morning jacket, convertable boots-to-sandals and a fold-up silk coat - similar to silk sleeping bags that fold up into the size of a small koala, but keep you warm like a bear. That would have done much to help me quicker on the way of appreciating the marvels of Melbourne instead of scurrying from shop to shop in search of a warm coat. ANY warm coat!

In retrospect, I should have done the maths when packing my suitcase. Really, it is not difficult: if a city has an average temperature of 26°C for January, and the previous week registered temperatures in excess of 36°C, it HAS to balance out with maximum temperatures of 16° this week...

I guess this bi-polar weather is just one of the things one has to get accustomed to in Melbourne, like someone said, Melbourne has so much MORE weather!

A definite upside: you get to wear your boots and coat throughout the year, even with a little summer dress!

Location: Block Pl,Melbourne,Australia

Day 26: Finding the Falls

Today was going to be an especially memorable day: we were going to the Blue Mountains. Since I can remember, mountains have always had a special allure to me. Having grown up in a reasonable flat area of the North West province in South Africa, anything that has the word 'mountain' attached to it, means a break in the monotonous flat horizon of rows and rows of maize. So when I first heard about the Blue Mountains, I got understandably excited.

The 2-hour train trip was reasonably uneventful, as one would hope such things to be when they're not the main attraction. We did, however, start to realise that we are really going to a popular tourist destination. Arriving in Katoomba confirmed this: the thing that you will see MOST of in the best tourist destinations, are in fact tourists themselves. They arrived by train, by bus, by any possible means of transport, to see the mystical Blue Mountains. (Which reminded me of an old Afrikaans song - 'Al lê die berge nog so blou'. Loosely translated as 'Even though the mountains lay in blue'...)

The moment I stepped off the train, I knew I wasn't going to be disappointed. Fresh mountain air, with a hint of eucalyptus on the nose, and open blue skies. A beautiful day. And a beautiful quaint town, which reminds me of somewhere, even though I've never quite experienced a similar place. Knysna in the mountains? A larger version of Hochsback? Kaapschehoop maybe - with the cool air and perched on an escarpment?

Whichever it may be, there was a welcome feeling of familiarity. Even in the forest walks just outside the town. Huge trees, mottled shadow, layers of leaves coating the forest floor, tree-ferns, moss, chirping of birds and insects... It was all there. Even down to a few pesky mosquitoes. The only thing that was missing, was a waterfall. Or lots of waterfalls - then it would be like the forests near Sabie and Graskop in Mpumalanga.

I was quite delighted then, to see a signpost on one of our walks, reading 'Katoomba Falls - 25 mins'. Yes! We followed the signs, still enchanted by the forest. The previous time we walked in a forest like this, our quick 15 minute walk became hours of being lost, and walking along cliff edges that still give me chills when I think about it. We mistook an animal track for a human one. (In hindsight that explained the unusual frequency of animal droppings along it...)

Not so on the pathways here. You can hardly doubt the nature of a 1m wide pathway - especially when large sections of it is clad in wood WITH a handrail! It is the difference between walking in a forest where marketing and a well-organised tourist industry plotted the points of human interaction, and walking in a forest surrounding a little village that can only be reached by car after a good number of hours on a winding single-lane road...

After the indicated 25 minutes of walking, lo and behold, there is another sign to the waterfalls, and some tourists pointing the way. Two minutes? I am surprised. Shouldn't we be hearing the falls by now? Yes, there is the bubbling of a stream close-by, but waterfalls.... thunder. They roar. They make their presence known. We walk a bit, see a little stream flowing over some rocks. Walk some more, see a slightly bigger stream falling over some rocks between the trees, and again and again. We walk a bit further.... the sound of water grows fainter. We turn back. Is that it? We look at each other. We look at the stream coming down between the trees. I point my phone in that direction. I aim. But I can't get myself to press the button. Even with my real camera I would probably need a 400mm lens to fill the picture with water rushing down.

We stared at the waterfall a bit more, then looked at each other. "The trees are really magnificent, you know." I nodded.

Walking through forest in the Blue Mountains

Later, we learned that the Blue Mountains are indeed host to many waterfalls. I am still not convinced we saw the right one. Maybe we should have just walked another 10 minutes. Maybe it was just not the right time of year. If you go to Vic Falls 'in season', you see The Smoke that Thunders. In dry season, you see lots of cliff and a bit of water. 

One day, I will go back to the Blue Mountains. And then I will know...

Day 24: All in a day's work

As I have to remind myself occasionally, part of our short-term plan is to acquire employment. It is rather hard to convince all the parts of your mind to switch from HOLIDAY-mode to INTERVIEW-mode, but somehow it is possible, and for a couple of hours it was business in all seriousness.

With the feeling of high-heels still fresh in my feet's memory, we decided to spend the afternoon in Manly. I am rather relieved that I was infinitely better prepared for the interview than for what waited on Manly!

To put the experience in perspective, my prior knowledge about Manly centered mainly around three things:
1. It is an extremely popular and hip place to live in.
2. It is an expensive place to live in.
3. You can get there by ferry.

Yep. Not a wealth of information.
You can then well understand my surprise when nearing Manly - on the famous ferry, of course! - I see a stretch of tall buildings, a line of trees, and best of all: a beach!

Of course that piece of information is known by MANY people, and thus, even on a weekday afternoon, the beach is dotted from end to end with people. Furthermore, just off the beach, you find yourself in friendly streets of shopping and eating. Thus armed with a feeling of pleasant surprise on the one hand and Danish ice-cream in the other hand, we head off to walk along Manly beach...

It is along this walk that I seriously considered a change in career. A radical change. Here we are, in the country of new opportunity, and I am looking for a job where I will spend most of my day in an office, looking at a computer screen, or getting other people to look at a computer screen? I have to wear suitably uncomfortable shoes to look 'professional', wear different IRONED clothes every day, and even brush my hair EVERY morning! Clearly all of that is overrated, totally unnecessary, and probably bad for your health.
HERE, on the beach of Manly, is where things can change. THIS is where I can spend my days. Live my future. Become...

Living the dream!

There is only one small problem. Call it a challenge, if you like. I would need to learn to swim!!!

Location:Manly, Sydney

Day 23: City of Diversity

One thing that struck me about Sydney almost immediately, is its diversity. People from different countries and cultures flow in and out of its public spaces like ants after rain. I thought it's a good opportunity for some list-making.

First: the number of times I heard and could identify different languages in one day in Sydney. (Sadly I won't know the difference between Cantonese and Mandarin, or Bulgarian and any number of Eastern European languages, so my list is very limited to what I CAN in fact distinguish easily!)

List of Languages

I was surprised at the high frequence of French. But maybe my ears just pick it up easier.
On the other hand, I expected to hear much more Italian. All my research indicated that there is a very large Italian community in Australia. I'm beginning to wonder if my method of identifying Italian is maybe faulty.
Only one person was singing La donna e mobile as he walked past.

The next list is very similar. This was compiled in the span of around three hours over lunch-time. Restaurants and any other shops related to food, with an obvious foreign connotation.

List of International Cuisine spotted

The Fruitologist sneaked through on the list as it really tickled my interest. Would they perhaps advise customers that an apple a day keeps the doctor at bay?

Now off to look for a French Pattiserie, Italian ice-cream and Belgian waffles!

Location:Pott's Point, Sydney

Day 22: Home is...

Our first day in Sydney was utterly and deeply depressing.

Arrive at airport.

Take taxi to where we'll be staying. Taxi driver takes different route than what Trusty Tom suggests. Route goes through industrial area, China Town and other dodgy-looking back streets.

We get dropped off.

Get keys for the house we'll be staying in.

It's old. Very old.

It's dark inside.

There's no coffee.

No breakfast.

No views.

No friendliness. Need to get out. Get away. Get the train.

Google Maps. Find the station. 2km walk.

Train to town. Look for food. Any food. Heart-attack. Look for cheaper food.Walk in park. Walk in town. Walk in Circular Quays. Walk some more.

Hungry again. Missing home. Take a train. And another one. 2km walk. Up the hill. Old streets. Old houses. Old everything. Dinner time. Google Places. Pizza place. Walk around corner. Closed until 17 Jan. Kick the rubbish bin. Sore toe.

Spot hungry locals. Follow them. Stealthily. Found it. Pizza. Large. Crispy base. Delicious.
We start the walk back. Oddly, I notice a charming little house nestled between some of the other old ones we saw earlier. Funny. They have some charm of their own, actually. You must just have a closer look. Wait, THERE is a beautiful nave. And a bay-window. That house even has a name! I have always thought one day I will have a house with a name. The last light of day clothes the street in glorious golds and pinks.

Ahoy! What's this? A train station? This close? How did we not see it before?? The whole place has suddenly, magically, been transformed. I see stained-glass windows and wooden floors and high ceilings.

What has happened? What has changed?? Gourmet pizza. Clearly... home is where the food is!

House Highbury

Location: Croydon Rd,Croydon,Australia

Day 20: Wearing your heart...

There is something about popular Aussie culture that I'm still trying to get my head around. It is not something totally new to me, rather it is the fervour with which people subscribe to it that still astounds me. Yes, I am talking about the art of tattoos. Again. I have a friend who once told me: if something is important, just repeat it again and again until people get it. Anyone who's been to Queensland will KNOW the importance of tattoos here. It has to be the region worldwide with the highest number of tattoos per capita.

Now, curious as I tend to be about things I don't understand, I started giving this special demographical group special attention. Apart from a disconcerting desire to show contempt for pain, what are these people trying to convey? What message from the Other side are they trying to bring?

After days of wrestling with these questions and getting no closer to any answers (apart from coming to the conclusion that The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo would not be that extraordinary here), a sliver of light finally shone on my ignorance.

We were seated next to Mr Diamond on a plane to Sydney. For the first flight in a long time, we didn't need any of our valued electronic devices for onboard entertainment. We were treated to a live show of flex-my-chest-muscles, and an equally entertaining display of fine needlework in text and graphics.

A picture of a curvy woman in a bikini, interspersed with diamonds and currency symbols, placed around a dedication to 'Mamma & Papa' filled up one arm. The other, confoundingly, covered in scrolls containing verses from Revelations. Some thought must have gone into these, even if these same thoughts in my head would never manifest themselves on my arms. Or any other body parts, for that matter.

It is then that the thought crossed my mind: maybe some people see their bodies as a canvas for the expression of their thoughts. Maybe... it is simply a very extreme form of the age-old expression: To wear your heart on your sleave.

Or any part you still have open!

Day 19: Kangaroo!

The one fact about Australia that I can say I really KNEW before coming here, is that there are kangaroos here. (I have known that since listening to 'Dot and the Kangaroo' about 23.5 times in pre-school. Storyman was a huge part if my daily routine back then.) Ironically enough, I have only spotted them twice so far. Although, giving it some thought, spotting them at all on an ordinary drive in the streets of the Gold Coast is the surprise, really. I mean, how often do people see elephant on their way to work between Joburg and Pretoria??

Now the second surprise around kangaroos turned out to be their place in society. Ignorant foreigner as I am, I was expecting to see at least one roo-statue in every city, sportclubs named after famous roos, 'Kangaroo' street the main street in every town, with a garden of Roomemberance in every park, and maybe a little roo-shrine in front of the real roonatics' houses.

No. Not even the backs of coins are dedicated to roos. All of them seem to bear the face of a woman, and astonishingly, MY name! All the kangaroo got, is to share the 50c coin with an emu. SHARE. On ONE side. That's less than 12c worth of real-estate - considering the sides are edged!

The only dedicated roo-thing I have seen to date, is a roo-bar. No, not a pub specific to them. A sturdy piece of metal attached to the front of a sturdy vehicle, dedicated to the defense of vehicle against roo on road. Yep. Just like a bull-bar. I was shocked. Mortified. Poor little roo! I exclaimed upon hearing the first tale of vehicle vs roo. I was met with defiance: Stupid animals jump into the road any unexpected time! Could kill a man, them roos!

It became clear very quickly that the appreciation I have of them as one of The Things about Australia, is mostly shared by other foreigners. No Real Aussie stops next to the road to watch a roo lying in the shade until he hops away. Just like no Real South African would stop next to the 1018th Impala in the Kruger Park.

Well, until the day I can drive past roos with only a casual comment about the state of my uncle's roobar after The Incident, I would still be a foreigner. And foreigners are expected to stop next to the road and gape at kangaroos.

Foreigners are also forgiven for taking a picture of said animals with a mobile phone, even if the resulting picture really DOES look like a picture of some rocks. But.... If you look VERY closely, you will know what the two dots in the field behind the rocks are...

Three Rocks and...

Day 18: Danger lurking!

I have a confession to make: I am probably one of many people who was under the impression that Australia is one of the safest places on the planet. For months before arriving, I have been dreaming about leaving doors unlocked at night, leaving the car keys in the ignition (that is really where you need them most, not so?), and writing my PIN-code discreetly on my debit card so I have one less thing to remember. As it turned out, I was grievously mistaken.

The truth about this misconception stared me bluntly in the face while going about a very ordinary daily routine for most people: catching a train from point A to point B.

Initially everything went very smoothly: buy Go-Card, save 20% on fares. Inspect route map, determine which platform to use. Short wait for train, board QUICKLY. (A note to non-South Africans at this point: we have only recently been introduced to the joy of a world-class speed-train between the main airport in Johannesburg and about a dozen other stations. Less than a dozen, in fact. So, strange as it may seem, using The Train is still something of a novelty to most of us.)

The journey itself was uneventful and disappointingly unremarkable. Mostly, it was filled with people who..... sit. And wait. Some keep themselves occupied on phones. Some stare out the windows - not really noticing the landscape they've already seen 1000 times. One guy, slightly disconcertingly, simply fixed his gaze at an unmoving particle of dust about 3 metres ahead of him. He didn't blink once during the 45 minute journey. I wondered if he could bend spoons.

No, the shock didn't come on the journey. It came shortly after, as we climbed the stairs from the platform to cross over the railway. People were coming and going - a normal day for most. The next moment it hit me right in the face: Danger. Right here. Right on the stairs. Right where I am. Right where hundreds of people walk every day.

"Make Your Next Step the Right Step - Hold the Handrail"

I gasped for breath. What dangers could possibly lurk beneath the stairs that will cause them to shake and rumble and throw you off unexpectedly? Why else would there be a repeated warning across all the staircases? Are they not solid, immovable, predictable? It must be a terrible, terrible fate to be thrown off something that has every APPEARANCE of being solid and dependable! At least in South Africa we KNEW what the dangers were: hijackings and protests and anything 'armed'.

And so I started off my list of Dangers in Australia, with the single entry:

STAIRCASES

Make Your Next Step the Right Step - Hold the Handrail

Day 17: Climbing Mountains

It is the unfortunate reality that we didn't come to Australia to have one long extended holiday. Nice though that might sound, it would really result in boredom. Eventually. But most likely a very flat wallet long before boredom finally sets in. To prevent this misfortunate state of affairs, it is generally recommended to look for employment. A job. It has been well-proven to keep one occupied for about 8 hours a day, though it is possible to negotiate for 10 or even 12 hours per day if you are really determined. (It is worth noting that such hours certainly cure boredom, but it is also known that a certain degree of boredom is necessary for restful sleep. It really is a fine balancing act.)

Now the good thing about moving countries, is that you get a fresh start. You get to decide again in a big way where, and HOW you want to spend those 8 or 10 or 12 hours. The whole world has been turned upside-down in any case. AND right-side left. You're now... Down-under. The far-East is suddenly the near East, and the Middle-East is really West.

In this process of getting your compass aligned again, you suddenly find your inner-compass spinning wildly as well. What DO I really want to do? Work for a big corporate? Small start-up? Or start an own business? What about a new career? Should I study again? Maybe now is the chance to reach what I have always wanted. Maybe NOW I can become a musician or an artist or a writer or an architect or a neurologist or a physicist and write Dr in front of my name. And wear sterile white jackets and do maths all day, get a crease on my forehead and forget people's names.

I pause.

Suddenly I realise I've been dreaming of climbing the mountains I saw as a child. They seemed so majestic and grand. The greatest mountains in the world. The only ones worth climbing.

I look around.

I see mountains around me. Different ones than what I dreamt of. But... beautiful. Powerful. Impressive. And full of little quirks and unexpected delights. And most surprising: I am further than I thought. The views are already beautiful!

I smile.

And send my CV off.

Day 16: G'day Mate!

People who know me well will know that I have a certain degree of telephonophobia: the fear of talking over a phone. (Of course there are exceptions - I prefer making a phone call to being beaten with a stick, OR being thrown in cold water, but mostly it has been good for my telephone bill.) The prospect of making numerous phone calls relating to the many administrative tasks involved around settling in a new country was, to say the least, rather unpleasant.

So then, when I recently opened a bank account at one of the local branches, only to arrive back home and realise I still need to activate parts of my online profile TELEPHONICALLY, I was filled with horror. The lady in the bank was so FRIENDLY. It was so EASY to open a bank account. No FICA or RICA or any ICA's. (Fellow South Africans will know what a painful process it is to open any account in SA!) Now THIS.....

I prepared myself mentally for the ordeal awaiting me. It has to be done. No choice. I selected my reward: a piece of choice Lindt chocolate. 

It's good to have some solid motivation to complete a daunting task.

I dial the number and brace myself to be met by a wall of unfriendliness and repeating my request 8 1/2 times to someone who does not reaaaaaally know or want to assist.....

"G'day Mate! And how are you today?"

Ooops...... didn't prepare for that one. Not too difficult though. 'Well' should suffice. Or even a 'Very well, thanks.'

"How can we help you today?"

Yep, saw that one coming. Got the answer. No problem.

"Excellent. I will do that in no time. And how did you spend Christmas and New Year? Did you have a good time?"

Oi! Where's that coming from? You'd swear she knew me by name! Well I guess she does, seeing as she's sitting with my details on the screen before her...

"Terrific! That sounds very nice. Just a moment while I update the system..... Was Santa good to you this year?"

Santa?? He stopped giving me anything since I made it very clear years ago that I much preferred the tooth-fairy. SHE visited many times a year, AND left nice notes too. But that's too lengthy an answer, and probably somewhat unexpected. Maybe better to say Santa visited the kids in the family, much to their delight...

"There! All done. Is there ANYTHING else I can assist you with?"

Phone the Department of Transport to book the Driver's license test?? Pleeeease??

But of course I didn't say that. And of course she didn't phone them. But I still looked at the phone in wonder: maybe the problem all along hasn't been ME. There must be many more people dreading to phone Telkom. Or anyone of many service providers in South Africa. She actually sounded like she really WANTED to help.

After thinking about it for several days, I decided the friendly telephone lady must most certainly have a little butterfly tattoo somewhere...

Little Friendly Butterfly

Day 15: Dogs on Leash!

There is a miniature Schnauzer in the family, and he wanted to go for a walk today. But not an ordinary walk in the park. No. A walk on the beach.

Not ever having lived on the coast in South Africa, I don't have much experience of taking dogs to beaches. Here, if you want to bring pooch along, you have to go to one of the dog-friendly beaches, like the Spit.

Getting there turns out to be quite an ordeal in itself: it's a public holiday! Every car-owning person wants to go to Seaworld. And every dog-owning person wants to go to the Spit. And the two are next to each other... It was Joburg traffic at its worst.

Finally there, we find a designated parking area for 'dog-walkers'. Nice. Organised. Signs showing clearly: Dog on leash. Or: No dogs beyond this point. Contrary to popular belief, dogs can't read, however. And humans tend to take some rules with a pinch of salt. Surely they don't really mean ALL dogs on leashes, ALL the time. Angry dogs definitely, and maybe old ones.

Fortunately we are in a first-world country. And not any country, it's Australia. Here, there are friendly people dressed in khaki, driving up and down the beach to remind people and dogs to stay connected with a leash, and not to go over the imaginary line in the sand to the other side - the side where dogs are not allowed. And if you are one of the people with dog but no leash, you promptly get issued with a leash. Plus a doggie-bag for the other end. (I couldn't help to wonder: if you arrive with a leash but no dog, will you get issued with a dog??)

I can only muse at this strange, friendly efficiency.

It is somewhat of a new concept for someone from Africa...

Near the Spit - the dog-walker's beach