It is time. Time for a blog post. While I sit in my office typing up minutes, I think, why not type a post up instead. (Typing, any typing, gives the pretence of work) NB: I do work, very hard, but get through this stuff twice as fast as most people so am left with some to kill.
The end of my trip to Sydney is nigh. I suppose the obvious question would be – is the grass really greener on the other side? Not greener, just a different colour. If you like high wages, queues (this includes bizarrely inconvenient bureaucracy queues), bad employment laws (how can I say ‘bad’ when there isn’t many to begin with), an off-the-Richter scale night life and a horizon that seems to stretch onto infinity, then this is the place for you. But if you like beaches, good food and wine, very ‘localised’ political processes, nice people and a sense of belonging, then New Zealand is your place. But then it would be because you’re probably from there.
I can’t really describe the sense of disconnectedness I’ve felt because I’m used to it now. Six months is just long enough to get settled in – soon I will be disorientated again.
Our group of friends here are primarily British, and we have moved into a main street in central Sydney. The traffic outside my window has even stopped messing with my chi – in fact, I don’t think I could get to sleep without the constant sound of angry car engines. We have had parties, seen obscure places with strange names on the train line, and become close to our new friends in a scarily speedy process, probably knowing each other better than most of our friends back home do.
The flora and fauna are peculiar, some fantastic. There is a strange creature that wanders around – it may come from the same breed as “Male wearing board shorts and fluoro” but we’re not certain. This creature is good for dancing, snogging and poking fun of it’s accent. (Hint: sit in a train and tell them to read out all the Aboriginal place names – makes any long journey pass quickly) Bats are rampant, lizards hang around sunny patches of concrete (that’s right – I have kept away from the bush), and larger than average birds make war cries in the afternoon. Live and let live, I say.
TV shows are not even worth mentioning – except for that inexplicably addictive animal show by David Attenborough which we all seem to congregate together to watch. You’d think it would be awkward watching live mating seasons with your flatmates, but it’s not. Advertisements are punctured regularly with anti smoking ads, followed regularly by a trip to the front room for a smoke.
Another hint for Sydney tourists – ever wonder why Aussies never seem to swim at Bondi? There is a direct line of sewerage flow about 1km offshore – watch out.
It is a great life, one that I will be very sad to say goodbye to. I will never forget my time in Australia.
But on to more exciting things, I am seeing the Pope this weekend, and one month from now I will be in a train from Shanghai to Beijing, Volleyball Olympic tickets in hand. Then London and France, then settling down in Bath or Islington for another stint at working somewhere that isn’t quite home.
xx L
The end of my trip to Sydney is nigh. I suppose the obvious question would be – is the grass really greener on the other side? Not greener, just a different colour. If you like high wages, queues (this includes bizarrely inconvenient bureaucracy queues), bad employment laws (how can I say ‘bad’ when there isn’t many to begin with), an off-the-Richter scale night life and a horizon that seems to stretch onto infinity, then this is the place for you. But if you like beaches, good food and wine, very ‘localised’ political processes, nice people and a sense of belonging, then New Zealand is your place. But then it would be because you’re probably from there.
I can’t really describe the sense of disconnectedness I’ve felt because I’m used to it now. Six months is just long enough to get settled in – soon I will be disorientated again.
Our group of friends here are primarily British, and we have moved into a main street in central Sydney. The traffic outside my window has even stopped messing with my chi – in fact, I don’t think I could get to sleep without the constant sound of angry car engines. We have had parties, seen obscure places with strange names on the train line, and become close to our new friends in a scarily speedy process, probably knowing each other better than most of our friends back home do.
The flora and fauna are peculiar, some fantastic. There is a strange creature that wanders around – it may come from the same breed as “Male wearing board shorts and fluoro” but we’re not certain. This creature is good for dancing, snogging and poking fun of it’s accent. (Hint: sit in a train and tell them to read out all the Aboriginal place names – makes any long journey pass quickly) Bats are rampant, lizards hang around sunny patches of concrete (that’s right – I have kept away from the bush), and larger than average birds make war cries in the afternoon. Live and let live, I say.
TV shows are not even worth mentioning – except for that inexplicably addictive animal show by David Attenborough which we all seem to congregate together to watch. You’d think it would be awkward watching live mating seasons with your flatmates, but it’s not. Advertisements are punctured regularly with anti smoking ads, followed regularly by a trip to the front room for a smoke.
Another hint for Sydney tourists – ever wonder why Aussies never seem to swim at Bondi? There is a direct line of sewerage flow about 1km offshore – watch out.
It is a great life, one that I will be very sad to say goodbye to. I will never forget my time in Australia.
But on to more exciting things, I am seeing the Pope this weekend, and one month from now I will be in a train from Shanghai to Beijing, Volleyball Olympic tickets in hand. Then London and France, then settling down in Bath or Islington for another stint at working somewhere that isn’t quite home.
xx L
