No Speak Americano

Sydney skyline from the harbour

Being in Australia has been a pretty weird experience so far - you travel for what feels like a week only to emerge in a Westernised country where everyone speaks English. Does not compute. If you were to see a photo of Sydney city centre (or CBD as they refer to it) you could be forgiven for guessing it was a scene from an American city. Probably not by actual Australians but I am sure fellow tourists would readily accept your apologies. The city is organised into blocks by wide, smooth roads and pavements with skyscrapers towering over the busy commercial district amongst new, shiny buildings and only a sprinkling of older ones. (The oldest residential building in Sydney was built in 1816 – as our tour guide said to our largely European group, “Yeah, I bet you are all impressed. None of you have anything as old as that in your countries... ahem...”) But what I am saying is that for all that flying life is easy, nothing is particularly foreign feeling (except the warmth, oh sweet warmth!) and you will fit in nicely since you already know all the quirks of the Aussie slanguage; thongs go on your feet, good things are bonzer, drink too much and you will chunder, everything comes in heaps, etc. I became accustomed to most of it randomly enough in Hanoi due to 'heaps' of Aussie staff. 

So when exhausted from the Sydney sun (when the shy bastard decides to pop its head out from behind the clouds that is) you flop down in a cafe for a caffeine fix you do not expect things to go wrong. “Regular americano please,” I ask the waitress, but rather than whisking off to give the barista my order she just stands there looking at me like my neck has had a spontaneous and rapid growth spurt and decided to produce an extra head. “An americano?” Assuming she is just double checking the order to ensure my accent has not caused any confusion I give a polite nod and return to my book. No such luck, she continues to hover. She admits to me that she has no idea what an americano  is and from the expression on her face, it is clear she thinks I am the ludicrous one. “Just a standard, black coffee?” I cannot help but pose this as a question. Realisation dawns. “Oohhh, you mean a long black, OK.” No I did not mean a long black but if it means she is going to bring me a cup of coffee then I am not going to correct the girl. So I mutter “sure” and off she swishes, clearly bemused by the whole encounter. 

Seriously? Even disregarding the fact that Long Black sounds like the name of the lead male character in a porno movie, how ridiculous is it that coffee names have not been standardised over the world? I feel a petition coming on. Resultant peering at coffee menus suggests that the rest are the same (although I fear an espresso has been dubbed a Short Black, Long Black’s midget and probably moustached sidekick) so why mess with a classic? The real issue here of course is that Aussie stereotypes are useless. Why have we been introduced to largely useless words like Sheila and didgeri-flipping-doo when what we should be taught are slanguage survival skills like how to successfully order a coffee! 

A schooner or pot - somewhere between a half and a pint

And once you notice one thing, it all starts piling up. For instance, when casually strolling around you are thinking ‘wow, there are a lot of hotels with pubs in the reception.’ Now, I know, in retrospect that this was a crazy thing to think but as it is slowly dawning on you just how different things are you go with it! Finding out (several days later) that in this upside down land hotel = pub clearly makes more sense but still blows your mind a little bit. I mean, how did that happen? When the colonists got here were they so bored they thought ‘hey, let’s mess around with the dictionary?’ I have yet to discover if I can go into an establishment which advertises itself as a pub and book accommodation for the night. And once you're in the supposed hotel, more madness comes at you in the form of stubbies, schooners, middies and the chunder inducing goon. You feel like shouting "I just want a flipping drink!" but it is best to accept this will not get you very far. 

I have yet to successfully navigate my away around most of these hurdles, having chosen to drink spirits as an altogether safer option. Thankfully, today I head to Canberra to meet up with Romy. While it's staying with a friend, I can also think of it as an Australian homestay; hopefully some sort of cultural exchange will occur, my slanguage skills will improve and all that other stuff that is supposed to happen when you go on an exchange and stay with a foreign family. Besides it is not all bad, 'bogan' is one of my new favourite words. 

Culture Vulture

I am one of those people who are perfectly content in their own company. I guess growing up as a much envied ‘only child’ contributed to this as at an early age I was suitably proficient at playing a variety of games against myself. (Yes, I always won). Do not get me wrong, I was far from being a sad, hermit kid. I had plenty of friends and looking back on it, it was good that when none of the other kids came out to play I was capable of entertaining myself. It is a mindset that has translated well into later life - some adults are still not comfortable being by themselves, if only for a few minutes, preferring to wait outside bars until their friends arrive while I just go in and wait with a pint.

Sydney Botanical Gardens

So during this awkward ‘making friends’ stage of solo backpacking I am happy enough to head out on my own during the day to take in the sights and explore the city; visiting museums, libraries, taking tours and finding out about the history of Sydney. You could say I turn into a bit of a culture vulture. Even when I was travelling in Thailand , one of my favourite ways to spend the day was to hit the temple trail visiting as many Wats and Buddha gardens as possible. These activities whilst not everyone’s cup of tea (which is fair considering tea is not my cup of tea, yuck!) are how I like to spend my time in a new place – the culture is part of where you are.

But wait, what's the difference between Australia and a yoghurt? A yoghurt develops a culture. (Libby if you're reading this, I don't care how biologically inaccurate that is, it's my standard Australia joke and yes, they love me here). My point being that on the rare occasion that the question of Australian culture arises, inevitably what comes to mind are BBQs, beaches, bush tucker and well…not much else. Which when you consider that there are beaches and BBQs all over the world is somewhat damning. I have yet to BBQ on Australian soil or try some bush tucker (preferring to indulge my cravings for Asian food in Chinatown, oh how I have missed phở gà) but by going to museums and the like I am slowly gaining some understanding of Australian history.

A highlight of my time in Sydney thus far has been the exhibit on Australia's indigenous population in the Australian Museum. (Apparently, 'indigenous people' is the official term as while indigenous the Torres Strait Islanders are not Aborigines.) Starting with information on traditional culture and the importance of spirituality before moving on to the effect of the colonists on their way of life (not to mention wiping out half their population with smallpox) and progressing right up to the indigenous rights movement and contemporary Aboriginal life, the museum really added to my very limited knowledge of Australia's first people. What really struck me was the display on 'The Lost Generation'; Aboriginal people who as children were effectively kidnapped from their families in most cases being told that their parents were dead, to be raised with white families or in institutions and learn how to be white. It was a government run initiative which has since been described as 'attempted cultural genocide.' Seems apt.

The Barracks

The Rocks Discovery Museum was another favourite with stacks of information on Sydney's first colonist settlement (named The Rocks because the land which it was built upon was rocky - imaginative) including what early life was like for those who had arrived. Stick a pile of convicts on a single patch of land and make rum your settlement's official currency and shit is going to go down. I have also been to the The Barracks which originally housed convicts but later provided a home for Irish orphan girls who were sent to Australia during The Famine (or The Hunger for the nationalist in you). There is even a Famine memorial in the grounds of the Barracks. Another Ireland shout out – the first colonist ashore was an Irishman! Sure, it was because he was carrying a Brit who did not want to get his shoes wet but still. 

All very interesting, no? But then a fellow backpacker asks you what you got up to that day. Suddenly you go from being a proud culture vulture to a sad loner. People presume you have not actually chosen to spend your time in this manner, but rather that you resigned yourself to sight-seeing because you are travelling alone and have not made any friends yet (in part due to your disturbing museum going tendencies). When the truth is that I indulge in sightseeing because the Botanical Gardens are incredible and filled with animals and plants that would be in a zoo at home, the State Library is a beautiful building with several interesting exhibitions and The Mint is...well, mint. And alone time is precious when you are living in communal dorms! Alone is not lonely and hey, the museums close at 5pm leaving plenty of time for us to get our drink on. So for as long as my backpacking pals are not interested, or in some cases have been here a while and already seen the sights, the culture vulture in me is happy to fly solo. 


(I am not responsible for any of the 'facts' in this. I go to museums, I didn't study everything and I was hungover when I went on that tour.)

Australia Landing

It really does exist

Well I have decided to give this whole blog thing a shot to keep you all updated on my travels. Although I doubt it will be remotely blog like as that would involve these entries having some sort of purpose or structure. It is much more likely that this page will be filled with my thought vomit, which lets be honest, is what you're really here for. (Also, since I managed to lose my Asia travel diary on my very last day in Asia this seems to be a much safer option).

Well I've been Down Under a few days now and have yet to fall off the world (as a tiny bit of me suspected I might - crazy, upside down southern hemisphere). It was a bit of a shock getting off the plane as all my travelling instincts were prepared for the unfamiliar and so clear signs I could read and the crazy westernisation of it all made them wary...they were expecting a struggle. But despite their unease they dutifully got me from the airport to the hostel despite the train line I needed being closed for construction. After SE Asia's largely laughable transport system navigating Sydney's trains was a breeze. I was even confident enough to help out a distressed Swiss girl who was heading in the same direction as me.


My experienced traveller bravado came to an abrupt end upon opening my backpack to find that an entire bottle of shampoo had decided to empty itself. There is no way to continue feeling like The Dog's Bollocks after this sort of incident. If I wasn't quite so pissed off I may have been impressed with it. Not only had it opened, the entire lid had came off it and there was not a drop left in the bottle. Despite being in a plastic bag it had managed to leak out and smear the entire compartment and its contents in its thick, blue gunge (Herbal Essences - looks pretty but the effect was visually more devastating than a regular shampoo would have been). It had also managed to get into my shower gel - the shower gel bottle was not even opened! Even after a few uses there is still some shampoo coming out with the shower gel. But all of this was OK since cleaning this sort of mess is exactly what every one wants to do after 30 hours or so of travelling. My dorm mates had great sympathy for me, who after a grunt of a greeting inquired if I was planning to turn the light out any time soon so they could sleep. You think they would have been pleased - the smell of my shampoo was really helping to mask the faint stench of a boys locker room that the seven boys who were staying there had managed to create.


Dragging my jet lagged ass out of bed the next morning was not as bad as I had been expecting, largely because I was gasping to head to Sydney Cove for a postcard perfect view that would prove to myself I really was in Sydney. I decided I was going to walk everywhere which not only made financial sense but would also help counteract the winter- induced hibernation style eating I had been doing at home. Having spent months covered up in chunky duffel coats, my bikini body was nowhere in sight and frankly, I applauded its decision to hide out until it could better itself. Also I find that walking  allows me to find my way about the city quicker - it is much easier to remember which street leads where if you have taken the time to stroll down it rather than whizz pass on a bus. It also gives you the freedom to be distracted by something shiny and wander off in a direction you had not planned (don't worry, this is end of my Ode to Walking). Which is how I ended up getting the best first view of Sydney Cove I could have hoped for - a walk through Botanical Gardens which as it turned out, had a nice little pathway leading straight to the Opera House.

Before airbrushing

I had one of those strange moments that generally accompanies the first sight of a famous landmark - to quote Hugh Grant, "surreal but nice." Like The Eiffel Tower, Statue of Liberty, Ha Long Bay, etc before them, (note - blatant flaunting of being well travelled) I could not stop staring at Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. It is the gradual realisation that this scene does in fact exist, it's not just an image featured in movies, on postcards and throughout Australia Tourism advertisements to make Sydney instantly recognisable. The first thing that struck me about the Opera House was that it was tiled; it had always looked so smooth and polished (is Australia the sort of country that airbrushes its landmarks to make them look younger and other landmarks feel haggard and inferior?). Even though it was a cloudy day its peaks somehow still managed to catch the sunlight and as I strolled around it, I found it difficult not to be fascinated by its unusual shape. After about ten minutes, the sun properly broke through and the whole harbour lit up (yes, I'm aware that sunlight does in fact light things, but you know what I mean). The boats bobbing along at the docks, the beautiful houses built into the slope, the CBD skyline, the amusement park across the bay and the Harbour Bridge arching across them all - it was a perfect travelling moment.