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