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.