Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

My Australian coffee menu knowledge got another addition over Christmas - muguccino. Cappuccino in a mug. As opposed to a cappuccino in a glass or cappuccino in a petri dish or some other unsuitable receptacle. Rather than just asking for a large cappuccino, you must choose between a cappuccino (small) or a muguccino (large). Madness. (I feel like I could let it go if a cappuccino was in fact a cuppuccino - there would be some sense to that). I fear I caused another coffee house scene, especially after Romy went on to order a muguccino and enjoy it in front of me while I petulantly sipped at my inadequately sized cappuccino, having refused on principle to order a muguccino. No point in encouraging them after all.

I did not take photos of coffee or hills hoists

 
Many more eyebrows were raised over Christmas when I was with the Packards and exposed to a whole host of new words. Some perfectly acceptable while others were closer to the muguccino incident and not just from my side - the Aussies were not happy either. Romy, my main slanguage sparring partner certainly did not always find the inconsistencies between UK and Australian English interesting or amusing. They slightly infuriated her and my often incredulous reactions to discovering these new terms probably did not help. For instance, a rotary washing line is called a hills hoist. Not just a washing line. Hmm. It is hard for me to accept that she would call it anything other than a washing line. But, for her, why would it not be a hills hoist? We end up staring at each other in disbelief and frustration. She says thongs, I say flip flops; she says 8.15, I say quarter past eight. Let's call the whole thing off, eh?

It is not like we are ever going to give up and start saying things the other way. But perhaps Romy's attitude comes from a 'When in Rome...' type notion? Although that would probably be giving her a lot of credit since we had these arguments long before I came to Australia. The  classic extends back to Hanoi and possibly even the first week we met; I say "duvet", she says "doona." . Then the Americans tried to chip in with "comforter" but they were told to pipe down. When you share a bedroom with someone this word comes up so many times it becomes exhausting so it is an argument we largely try to avoid. 
 
 There was a temporary true called over the pepper v capsicum battle. "But then what do you call chilli peppers?" asked Romy. "Chillis." "Oh." But then when we actually decided to roast the damn things (very yummy, stuffed with feta, chilli and basil) and it flared up again with Romy 'correcting' me with "capsicums" every time I dared to refer to the "peppers." But it would be unfair to say it was all her; many a times she will use a word that despite knowing exactly what she means I will pretend to be confused so she has to explain it, allowing me to say "Oh, you mean ..." 


However, there were many things I was genuinely clueless about and it went beyond words alone. Often I felt like a small child in a zoo wandering around Guerilla Bay having to ask a series of questions to get a basic understanding. What was making that noise? And what is that? Oh, really? So what does it do? I spent half of this time amazed, half of it terrified. Some of the creatures and plants I had never heard of before while others I had a completely misguided idea of what they actually were.  (Did everyone else know that a kookaburra was a bird? Huh.)  

The ever present wildlife

Escaping The Great Outdoors is not always a relief as even the supermarket is a place of confusion. If you want meat or cheese from the deli counter they expect you to know the grams/kilos  (I still live in Imperial Land when it comes to this). If you want cash back you ask for "cash out". If you want to top up your phone you have to ask for a "recharge." If you want to buy alcohol, there is not an aisle for it, but instead you must go to the nearby "bottle shop." On the upside the chocolate aisle is stacked with a familiar tasting Cadburys but even here there are some discrepancies - sure there is Freddo but chilling out beside him is his Australia cousin Caramello Koala.  


But it is easy to come around - the beaches are beautiful and the BBQs are tasty. Koalas are the cutest creatures ever and kangaroos are not too bad either (especially when they are not dead on the side of the road). The people are friendly and easy going, the weather is pretty damn nice and holding schooners does not flare up my RSI as quickly as holding pints does. Plus I have stopped constantly pondering the grammatical intricacies of being asked "how you going?" (Any thoughts on this? The Aussie "how are you?" that fails to be a "hows it going?" or a "how are you doing?" If Friends was set Down Under this would have been Joey's pick up line). From my perspective it is good to note down all these differences now because something tells me that in another couple of months I will be roasting capsicums and hitting the bottle shop up for some goon like I have been doing it my whole life, blissfully unaware that these words used to melt my brain. 


I do however ask that if I ever cosy up in a doona with a muguccino that someone shoot me.

Some Like It Hot

In all the excitement of coming to Australia and being warm, it was very easy to forget that the Christmas season was upon me. Sure there were Christmas trees, tinsel and the like but there were also open air festivals and bikini clad beach goers. Very confusing indeed. I spent Christmas 2010 in Hanoi where outside of my Western Hostel Bubble they did not really celebrate Christmas - decorations are put up around the city but if you asked the Vietnamese what they were going to do on Christmas day the answer was not very much. But whilst hardly traditional, last year still managed to feel like Christmas thanks to the WHB and the weather being suitably grim (if only compared to the previous months).


Now I always enjoy the argument that a hot, sunny Christmas is the most traditional of all if you play the Christ in Christmas Card. Yes, the scene of the very first Christmas was essentially a desert aka hot and sunny. Fair enough. But do not champion this notion and then put polystyrene snowmen in the window and play Let It Snow! If you get to spend Christmas being warm and working on your tan it is unfair to simultaneously get in on the iconic aspects of a Northern Hemisphere Christmas. You, dear Australia, appear to be having your brandy pudding and eating it too. Besides, the surfboarding Santas in red tank tops and sunglasses are much more apt - even St. Nick needs a vacation.

The view from the Packard Coast House

Thankfully, I was whisked away from my Christmas confusion by Romy (a very dear friend from my Hanoi days in case you live in a cave and have never heard of the unstoppable force that is Romdom) to be treated to a traditional Aussie Christmas with her family on the coast in Guerilla Bay. Situated on a small peninsula, the house has access to not one, but two beautiful beaches and stunning views all around - pretty damn spectacular. The massive Packard Family considerately arrived in small groups to allow me to learn their names and were warm and welcoming without exception. Suddenly, despite the amazing weather, it was feeling a lot like Christmas.


The 25th itself got off to a concerning start when I was rocked awake about 9am by a grinning Romy who cheerfully announced that I had to get up because I was ruining Christmas. The family had started getting up at 6am, sweetly unable to shake off the Christmas excitement that so many of us lose over the years and Packard tradition is to wait until everyone (around 25 people) is up before opening even a single one of the presents in the ridiculously large pile. (Seriously, never seen anything like it. All of the presents could not be put under the tree until everyone was going to bed on Christmas Eve as the pile took up the majority of the living room). In my head this many people with this many presents was going to be pure mayhem but far from the standard Christmas morning picture of people frantically grabbing every Christmas present in sight and ripping it open, a lovely little ceremony took place. The oldest and youngest members of the family distributed the presents in a completely orderly fashion, calling out who each present is for and who it is from e.g. "To Dom, From Rom." I must ask, are other families this civilised on Christmas morning or am I just disgustingly greedy? Regardless, I loved it and will definitely take my time with presents from now on.


Then of course, we went to the beach. Access to the 'back beach' is only possible by practically abseiling down a dirt track/cliff, clinging to the ropes the family have put in place over the years. I made it down very slowly with much help and teacher-like encouragement from an amused Romy who could have made it down in a fraction of the time if she did not have to babysit my own descent. However, those "good job buddy!"s really helped and I felt victorious, if not exhausted, when I hit the ground. It is completely possible that no-one other than the Packards know about this little gravel beach which made it a particularly special place to spend Christmas Day as there was no-one on the beach other than us. Oh and seven dogs. I mean, OK, all seven dogs probably were not on the beach, but it seems as good of a time as any to mention the huge canine presence and allow you all to picture how on edge I was a lot of the time. 


And dogs certainly were not the only animals present during my Christmas. Some played in the sea with what was thought to be 'harmless, flat jellyfish' and actually turned out to be two mating stingrays. Bouncing on them probably was not the smartest move. (You understand that I took no part in this as the second 'jellyfish' was uttered, I swam for the safety of the shore). Never mind keeping your wits about you in case the local wobbegong showed up - do not be fooled into thinking that's a cute or silly name, as it is in fact a shark. But in the distance some spotted dolphins or whales or something cute like that. Back on land, despite numerous stickers on the windows on the decking, kamikaze birds managed to fly smack-bang into them on a daily basis. And these were not standard pigeons but beautiful lorikeets; colourful, parrot type things that we would have in an aviary for sure. They knocked themselves out so hard they would  pass out on the grass below barely moving for 20mins. Black cockatoos flew overhead regularly but managed to avoid the window. Then there were the goannas and possums supposedly scampering around the deck at night time. Just ridiculous amounts of wildlife fluttering around for a simple city girl like myself! 

The scene was set

But despite intrusions from the animal kingdom we had a completely lovely Christmas. Once back from the beach, everyone got cleaned up and stuck into dinner preparations. The strawberry on top of my Aussie Christmas (I don't like cherries) was seeing the giant (and mouthwatering) ham come in from outside....could I dare to dream that they had BBQ-ed it? Disappointment temporarily sank in when I was informed it had been done in the smoker but inspection determined that the smoker was in fact a small, charcoal BBQ! (All fancy gas BBQs in Oz). All my Aussie Christmas dreams came true in that very moment. Dinner was amazing, with a few additions I would not normally see on my plate such as rice stuffing and sweet potato but everything was insanely delicious and as always I ate until I was fit to explode. 


Dinner was followed up with flaming puddings and lashings of very brandiey brandy butter and people whipping out a guitar and a ukulele for some sing alongs. I was dragged into the entertainment after serious pressure for an Irish Jig. Yikes. While I have drunkenly 'treated' many a club with my 'Irish dancing' when they foolishly play Tell Me Ma or something by B*witched it is not something I do with remote seriousness since I am in fact incapable. But a few glasses of wine and Christmas cheer was sufficient enough for me to embarrass myself so up I got to drag up my vague memories of an Easy Reel. Ultimately, it was good fun and like Tinkerbell and Rachel Berry before me I got applause which I do in fact need to live so it worked out in the end. Then to wind down a wonderful day we played a number of different games and even though no-one wanted to be on my team because I did not know who Julia Gillard was (whoops!) I muddled through. 


Basically I had an amazing Aussie Christmas and I cannot thank the wonderful Packard family enough for taking me in. As long as you are with good people (and eat until you feel sick) where you are or what the weather is like is inconsequential. Besides, some people still had red noses - sure it was from sunburn rather than Jack Frost nipping at them but as long as we all look like Rudolph, it does not really matter.