Being 'Strayan

As our wanderings around the second country in our antipodean adventure come to an end, I have been pondering what I have learned about what it takes to be ‘Strayan. The following list is neither complete nor accurate and for that I apologise:

‘Strayan citizens face towards the sea, for the beach is their spiritual home. They may head into the bush sometime in their life but this is a psychic quest, not a regular habit. It is something to be done early to get it out of the way,  or put off until retirement so you can include your 4WD Camper in an organised  'Tagalong'. This is sensible since it’s far cooler in every way at the beach.

Their national moto is ‘no worries’. Compare this with the English “I’m sorry but” and the American “Have a nice day”. The former suggests equality and a positive outlook. Having heard this in a conversation you can relax in the knowledge that you’ve not been sold something nor face a little self-deprecation to get the conversation going.

Australia’s modern economy is based on extractive industries, which requires a brashness (e.g. Texas) that follows from this divinely bestowed treasure. It helps to provide ‘the good life’ which is a national assumption. After all, that’s why people come here. There is a cloud on the horizon as commodity prices fall along with Chinese demand but “Heh, no worries”.

‘Strayans hold the pun in high esteem, which suits me just fine. Except that I have seen some of the worst advertising ever as we travel around the country. This included one billboard on the outskirts of Sydney proclaiming “‘Straight up Brokescrap Mountain” and featuring two arm-in-arm scrap metal dealers. Tongue-in-cheek homophobic puns – a world first?

Each sentence spoken by ‘Strayans should end on a high note, so always take your voice up as you finish. It confuses the listener as to whether you’ve really come to an end thus giving a pause for you both to think about what to say next.

Sport is a religion and 'Strayans approach it with a corresponding zeal. This is unfair on other countries like the English who just do it part time and pretend they don’t care when they lose. For ‘Strayans losing is not an option and luckily one they rarely have to confront.

Property ownership in ‘Straya is, like in many other countries, a quicker and easier way to make money than just earning it. However, they have taken it to a new level with innovations such as tax breaks on negative gearing. Don’t bother to try to work out what this is as your country would never consider it.

‘Straya is certainly a comfortable country for the British visitor. I have tried to determine why. Of course, I could fall back on old clichés like a shared heritage but that is being diluted as time passes and ‘Straya has looked more to the US and Asia. Even the Cadbury’s chocolate here tastes different from the UK version but then that great dependable has already sold itself for the Kraft dollar. No, it seems to me that the shared value is ‘outlook on life’. Compared with say the US, we both start from commonality not individuality. That has profound political and social implications.

So there it is. I am sorry but I never said this would be accurate. Have nice day.

Gud'on'ya Sport

It has been a dismal time to be an English sports supporter down under. Our cricket team performed up, or rather down, to expectations and didn’t make it through the initial league stage of the Cricket World Cup. The competition was being held in both New Zealand and Australia with these two teams about to meet in the final so, as the newspapers made it front page news every day, for me, or indeed any other Pom, there was no escape. 

At least our team had it much easier; they just packed up and went home weeks ago. I believe that we were finally knocked out by Bangladesh. Before then we may have beaten Afghanistan earlier but let's face it, in cricket circles, that’s hardly overachievement.

So I have been investigating to see why we tend to end up with the wooden spoon and I think I have found it.  As Sally and I have travelled around both countries we see that everyone seems to be out there playing sports.

In New Zealand after school, boys and probably girls too, go play cricket. You can see them on their ‘village greens’. If it were winter they would probably be preparing to thrash us at rugby. And the same goes for all sports: surfing, cycling, running - even the retired bowls players are out there practicing everyday.

And now here in Australia it’s the same. By the looks of it we can say goodbye to any swimming medals in the next Olympics for in Sydney we observed the open air swimming pools full of muscle-bound Adonis’ pounding up and down the lanes in spray on Speedos.

So the message is clear. England, we need to up our game. And Sally and I are determined to play our part by starting to run, just as soon as we get home. As I look in the mirror after two months of pie and chips the need is there before my very eyes.

A Balanced View

As our holiday draws to an end we had a wonderful evening looking down from Mt Ainslie on the lights of the city of Canberra with our two friends. He is a naval architect, designing vessels with beautiful clean lines. It made me think that Canberra’s parliamentary district is like a ship, laid out perfectly symmetrically.

And taking the analogy further that’s just like our holiday, as near the start we had looked down on the lights of the city of Adelaide, again with two other friends there – Sue and Billy. I like spotting patterns. And you could even say that the two weeks in NZ South Island before then were like the bow of the ship protruding from the front, beautiful and pointy.

Except it falls a part a bit as Adelaide is not the capital city and Billy was a dog But if you ignore that then the pattern is clear, sort of. That really shows why I am not a naval architect, as I keep changing my mind somy ships would have sticky-out pieces bolted on at the end that I had forgotten to design in from the start. No, my talents clearly lie elsewhere and I will keep travelling until I find them.

Break Out

Sally and I performed another historical re-enactment today. It wasn’t meant to be but we often get around to it when we run out of museums to see. Sort of moving from the theoretical to the actual.

We really just wanted a glass of wine but preferably one enjoyed while looking out over the bay with perhaps a cool breeze on a hot day – all very bourgeois. After much indecision we took the ferry over to Mosman Bay. It was a fateful choice – sensible on paper, when looking at the ferry route at Circular Quay, but almost disastrous in practice.

But in a way that’s good as it gave us an insight into the challenges faced by the First Fleet as they sort breakout from Sydney Harbour. For, great horrors, there was no wine bar next to the ferry stop at Mosman Bay. In fact, there was a steep climb up the steps and streets in what appeared to be a very select neighbourhood. One where a sea view costs a fortune.

In the baking sun we sought help from a solitary native and luckily, like the first aboriginal encounter, this one was friendly. He pointed us to the local shops five minutes up the road – 5 minutes in a car that is, which seemed to be the normal means of transport in Mosman.

In the end, it all turned out OK. We found the shops and dined on a meat pie and ginger beer then headed back down to the ferry terminal. On the way we passed the local park which was a vertiginous area set aside for bush regeneration. You could see what battling your way out of Mosman Bay would be like for those in the First Fleet.

Likely they never tried it here. Their ‘no-go’ areas turn into our sea views and local delicatessens.  The margin of disaster has now changed. For us it meant that the glass of wine was delayed until we got back to Circular Quay. It’s amazing what two hundred years and a ferry link can achieve.

Suffering for Art

To my mind, Sydney Opera house gets opera right. People make an effort to dress for the occasion but without the expensive pomp of Covent Garden – an insight into the two countries. We saw ‘Madame Butterfly’ in very affordable seats that still gave us a great view. Plus you have a drink at the interval looking out over the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the lights of the skyline on the opposite shore.

Back in the auditorium, Madame Butterfly was suffering from betrayal and perceived dishonour. Then it ends in tragedy as she finally loses all and takes her own life. I don’t know which opera Julie Roberts cried in ‘Pretty Woman’ (ok, it was La Traviata) but this one certainly got me going.

And all this is happening in a place where the first convicts were brought ashore. Maybe it always takes some suffering to create the good things. The experience certainly helped me forget the worries of my lost wallet. OK, not on the same scale I admit but you get the point.