Make New Friends, But Keep the Old...

Friends at home and in Switzerland often ask about Sydney's social scene. 'Are you making new friends?' is what they're really getting at. I told them before I left on this latest leg of our adventures that I felt wildly lucky to have met a number of quality friends so far. On one hand, it felt so foolish to abandon groups of friends with whom we felt comfortable and content. Why volunteer for the exhausting task of being on my best behavior for the sake of scoring new friends again?

And meeting new friends when you're grown up and married or have a partner truly is work. It's the kind of work that reminds you of dating with the same stiffness and awkwardness of getting to know each other, but without the thrill of a crush. The tricky part about making new couple friends is the compatibility factor. The guy has to get along with the guy, the girl with the girl and all four have to gel together as well.

I think this is why you see less of certain friends when your status changes from single to married or, as Facebook would say, 'in a relationship.' It's not that a significant other makes you a fundamentally different person, it might just be that your girlfriend can't relate to your friend's girlfriend when she talks incessantly about her Siamese called Muffin. Or, your husband can't bear an evening with an old college buddy who still thinks beer pong is an appropriate game for a thirtieth birthday party. And perhaps this is the real reason for upholding the tradition of a boys' night out; it's a chance to bond with the folks your wife would rather clean the toilet than visit.

Anyway, this is why making decent couple friends feels like winning the lottery. 'She doesn't have a habit of berating him in public and his social skills mask the fact that he's a software engineer,' you find yourself sighing in relief. 'Excellent, we can tolerate each other for an evening, but do we want to make this couple friendship long term?' Sadly, one of the most important factors in compatibility is money, or to be more accurate, the way you and your prospective friends prioritize spending it. If you and your partner enjoy fine dining, but your new buddies are perfectly content with Hungry Jacks (Australian Burger King) and wouldn't dream of diverting cash away from the jet ski fund, then perhaps you aren't a foursome made in heaven.

Another deal breaker is taste; it's even more critical than politics in my opinion. For example, almost everyone laughed at the film Napoleon Dynamite and those who love it have a cult fascination with it. Of course I'm in this latter group and when I showed it to a friend and she didn't love it, I questioned our friendship. I thought it was funny when Napoleon explained his drawing of a liger and Nat didn't, yet we are friends. It is indeed a mystery. Likewise, Mick and I have some couple friends who not only paid to see the Wayans Brothers 2004 movie White Chicks, but liked it as well. The reality of White Chicks being worth ten dollars opens up a world of possibilities that I just don't understand. Anyway, we haven't gone to the movies with them since.

Against the odds (one of which you must have gathered from the above paragraph is the fact that I'm a total snob), we have managed to make great couple and single friends. We adore our friends from Houston, California (including California transplants) and the UK. Do you notice anything odd about my social circle? I do; with the exception of our English friends, all our Sydney pals are... American. And for some reason, I feel I need to mention this and thus qualify our friend making success. 'Yes, Mom, I have made friends, but none of them are Australian."

Last year we were patting ourselves on the back for building a mini model UN social group with friends from Switzerland, the US, the UK, Australia, New Zealand and Finland. And in Switzerland this makes sense because being a native English speaker provides you with an instant bond. You whinge together about how strange Swiss German is and ironically because of these friendships, you never really learn it.

Here in Australia, though, everyone speaks English so you must form the bond of friendship over something else. In our case the something else is being recent arrivals to Sydney and Australia. Being new adds grease to the wheels of an ordinarily tiring and lengthy process. There's always something to talk about: cultural differences between Oz and the home country, where to find the creamiest peanut butter, etc. And without an existing social network, you don't have anyone else to call on a Saturday night so you get to know each other quickly.

Thus, making an Australian friend is going to require some work. Bonding over our new status as Sydney-siders won't be an option and I'll have to appear interesting and charming on another level. Check back with me in a couple of months; if I've made an Australian mate, I'll give you some tips on scoring local friends, but if I haven't, you'll know how truly lazy I am. :)

Mellywood

Before our plane had even touched down in Melbourne last weekend, we knew it would be our kind of place. We had read and heard that it was very European, Sydney's artier and more sophisticated sister city. Melburnians apparently would rather sip espressos in sidewalk cafes than bake on the beach and that sounded right up our alley.

The occasion was ANZAC (Australia New Zealand Army Corps) Day, a three day weekend honoring the service and sacrifice of soldiers in the first world war. Veterans and current servicemen and women rise for a dawn ceremony and then parade down the streets. I was impressed by the way Australians used the day off work to celebrate and recognize their veterans of war instead of treat it as another day to go shopping as we often do in the states. ANZAC Day even has its own (oatmealish) cookies and a special gambling game played in pubs only on this day.

And speaking of gambling, Mick and I were both stunned to learn that our hotel (rated number one on Tripadvisor in Melbourne) is part of Australia's biggest casino. We came for the cafes and one of a kind boutiques, but on our first night, we might as well have been in Vegas.

The next day we miraculously found our way out of the labyrinth that is the Crown Casino and explored the far quieter Melbourne University. In general, attending college in Australia is a different experience than it is in America. Not everyone is expected to go, students can earn diplomas and certificates that don't always require four years and many students live at home. The city campuses are usually more functional and less condensed than their American counterparts. These facts in mind, I was surprised to find Melbourne University very similar to US universities with hundred year old buildings sitting alongside more modern structures and residential college housing.

Later, we toured the Royal Exhibition Hall which was originally built to celebrate Australia's centenary: 100 years of European settlement in Australia. It was once a very grand place featuring dozens of shops and food stalls, a maze and even an aquarium with penguins. Today only ten percent of the original structure stands and it's only used occasionally as a reception hall and for an annual flower show. The whole thing seemed kind of sad, especially when we learned that the exhibition hall had once housed the second largest pipe organ in the world. According to our tour guide, the instrument hadn't been played since the 1920s, was looted by soldiers during the second world war and completely dismantled in the 1960s. Now why is it that some European structures have withstood centuries of wear and conflict, but Melburnians struggle to maintain this exhibition hall for a mere hundred years?

A tradition that I suspect will endure much longer in Melbourne is the recognition of the many cultures of people who make up this cosmopolitan city. On one of the pedestrian bridges across the Yarra river is a row of glass panels depicting the countries of origin of Melburnians, when they came and what languages they speak. A stroll outside Melbourne's city center reveals the lasting cultural and culinary mark these immigrant groups have left on the landscape. One street serves as a Little Italy while the perpendicular road was established as a Little Vietnam by a later generation of immigrants.

Fortunately for tourists and locals alike, a taste of Melbourne's diverse heritage is available at the Queen Victoria Market, a European-style market offering food and non-food items. With the exception of an Italian leather belt, most of the non-food items fell under the category of "things I'd have to throw away/donate to Goodwill within the year:" low quality shoes and clothes and Aussie tourist treasures like boomerangs with aboriginal designs and stuffed wombats.

However, the food was more than worth the trip. We indulged with a three course, sweet-savory-sweet breakfast of Italian mini pancakes served with berries and cream (who knew the Italians had pancakes?), a beef pie and American style doughnuts. It's not their Americanness that makes these doughnuts irresistible, it's the fact that they're made fresh in a van that does nothing but doughnuts in the jelly or plain with sugar variety. By the time we found the Spanish doughnuts van (churros con chocolate for dipping) we were already full to the gills.

These delicious treats from around the globe made up for my disappointment about missing the food tours. One guides you through the Queen Victoria Market and organizes sampling of the goods. Another is run by a private company called Chocoholic Tours and leads, you've guessed it, five different types of culinary tours highlighting the best chockie in the city. You can imagine my disappointment when I found out they were booked solid. 'Next time,' we sighed, 'we'll save that for next time.' I can't wait for next time.

Why Lawn Bowling is Better Than Ten Pin

There's an element of Australian culture that remains a mystery and mostly inaccessible to me: the world of sport (not 'sports'). Not that I was an avid sports fan in Switzerland, but I knew that the most popular sport was fussball (soccer). No problem; unathletic as I am, even I played AYSO (American Youth Soccer Organization) as a kid and can comprehend the basic rules of play. Australians are a competitive folk and football (soccer) is also one of the most popular sports here along with rugby, cricket and Australian rules football (not soccer).

I guess we in America were a British colony long enough to adopt English as a national language, but not long enough to fall in love with those sports that are so popular in the commonwealth countries. Instead we developed three different sports that the rest of the world doesn't really care about: American football, baseball and basketball. When you think about the American independent spirit, sports doesn't always spring to mind, but maybe it should.

Anyway, I don't think I'll become a crazed cricket fan or paint half my face blue in support of a local rugby team and I certainly won't play any of these sports for exercise or recreation either. When we got invited to our friend Chris' lawn bowling birthday party, though, we had unknowingly stumbled upon a perfect compromise. Lawn bowling doesn't require protective head gear or (lucky for me) heaps of coordination and it resembles ten pin bowling and bacchi ball, two "sports" we know and love.

I had watched lawn bowling on TV and even lived next door to a lawn bowling club when I studied in Edinburgh. I gathered that you were supposed to wear white, but little else. When you're as unathletic as I am, the accompanying food and uniforms are half the fun of sports. I go to ball games for the hot dogs and garlic fries and want to take up tennis so that I can purchase a skirt and matching polo.

Anyway, Charlie of the Paddington Bowling Club ("Paddo" in Ausspeak) showed us the basics of the game when we were all gathered on the lawn. From a distance the balls appear round, but up close you can see that they are weighted toward one side. When you first release the ball, it rolls in a straight line, but as it slows down it curves toward the heavier side. At the beginning of the game, someone throws a much smaller white ball, called 'the jack,' down the lane and this becomes the target of the game. The team with the balls closest to the jack wins and balls bowled outside the lane are out. That's pretty much it; at least that was the depth Charlie went into when describing the rules to us newbies. Instead, he focused on Paddo's two most important rules: no drinks on the lawn and keep the noise down because they're being sued by the old folks home next door.

The rule prohibiting wearing heels on the lawn probably ran a close third. Because even my kitten heel could have aerated the grass, I bowled barefoot (allowed by the rules). And though avoiding stepping on cigarette butts became an added challenge to my game (my friends wore flat shoes and thus were allowed to keep them on), I still left loving lawn bowling. Forget stinky bowling shoes that have seen who knows how many strange feet; lawn bowling allows you to feel the grass between your toes. And the fact that it is an outdoor "sport" is primarily why lawn bowling is better than ten pin bowling. You've got the grass beneath your toes, the sun on your back and you can hear your friends without shouting. The absence of 25 lanes of fourteen pound balls smacking into a pyramid of pins makes it possible to concentrate on your game and chat with your team without your head ringing.

Still I can see why lawn bowling hasn't overtaken ten pin bowling in places without the luxury of great weather. When it started to rain on our game, we were relieved that Paddo has a backup plan: come inside and drink more. The interior had been recently renovated and it was indeed a pleasant place to wait out the weather. When we ordered lunch we were delighted to learn that the menu offered more choices than burgers or hot dogs. Paddo was light years ahead of most ten pin bowling alleys with Asian noodle salads and the "salad" we ordered with sweet potato, parmesan, pinenuts and extra chicken. Yeah, you wouldn't find the boys from the Big Lebowski here and that's fine with me.

They're Neither Blue Nor Mountainous, But I Loved the Blue Mountains

No offense, Australia, but wouldn't "bluish hills" be a more accurate name for this range 48 kilometers west of Sydney? The blue effect in the distance is created by the evaporation of eucalyptus oils, fair enough. And again, the peaks aren't very tall (1,000m), but after an overnight visit, we found what they lack in height they make up for in charm.

People say that we need a car to really explore Australia, not only because this country is enormous, but also because the public transport isn't great. We are sticking to our guns, though and livin' la vida car-free as long as possible (i.e. as long as we can bum rides off others). The current plan is to rent a car when we want to get out of town and pray that we master left side driving on the way out of the rental lot.

A trip to the blue mountains, however, didn't require any behind the wheel luck so we decided to spend a night there two weeks ago. Thankfully the train couldn't have been easier. We found accommodations at the Argyll House in the town of Leura, an easy walk from the Leura train station. Mickey insists that this is the first "real" B&B we've stayed at together. "The others were just hotels calling themselves B&Bs," he said. "But this is the real deal." I guess the fact that the building was a house turned guest house and the fact that we had to share a bathroom gave it B&B charm and credibility in Mickey's eyes. I was more impressed by the full cooked breakfast prepared daily by the owner and her artist daughter. Guests were asked to place their orders the night before. We had the choices of porridge (oatmeal), fruit, eggs, bacon, etc. or (because the Argyll House has a Scottish theme) a full Scottish breakfast complete with blood pudding, tatties and yes, haggis. Not even the B&Bs in Scotland serve haggis in the morning, but here's this little old lady in the blue mountains proudly plating this dish that most Scots only consume on Burns Night if then. It makes you wonder where she's ordering it from, but if you really want to eat it, you probably should stop wondering.

As this was an overnight trip, there wasn't time to explore the caves or ride on the steepest cog railway in the world (I could have sworn that a Swiss train at Mt. Rigi made the same claim... I'll let them duke it out). However, we did take our first bushwalk. Before I left for this weekend getaway, my colleague recommended various blue mountains sites and asked if we enjoyed bushwalking. It always throws me for a loop when walking outdoors is elevated to the level of a hobby or even a sport by renaming it hiking, hill walking, or in this case, bushwalking. "I like trails that take a couple of hours," I cautiously answered, "but I've never been on a multi-day hike with a backpack." My colleague assured me that you don't have to wear combat boots and dress like Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee to bushwalk. From what I gather, then, bushwalking means walking outdoors in a non-urban Australian environment. And after a brief trek down to the Leura Cascades, along the rim of the gorge and concluding at the Three Sisters it turns out I can add 'bushwalking' to my list of hobbies on my social networking profiles without being ironic. Sort of.

Despite the natural haze (created by said eucalyptus forest oils) and smoke from a nearby fire, the views were spectacular. Before we ran into a noisy group of IT guys on a work offsite, Mick and I had the peace of the wilderness to ourselves. As we peered over the misty, forested valley, I felt like any moment we'd stumble upon a clan of endangered silverback gorillas a la Dian Fossey. Wrong continent, I know, but the mood and the excitement were just right.

Surprisingly, one of the biggest tourist attractions in the blue mountains is indoors. The Edge Cinemas boasts a six story IMAX screen on which they project a 45 minute film about the blue mountains. The narrative was so mixed up that you might have thought Tarantino had lent a directorial eye to the picture. Were the stories of the early colonists, paleo-botanists and spelunkers all going to intertwine in the end? No, but I'll give away the best part of the documentary right here (spoiler alert); in 1994, scientists discovered a species of tree in a remote part of the blue mountains that until then was believed to have died with the dinosaurs. Truly impressive.

It's only a two hour train ride away; would I return to the blue mountains? Absolutely I would. The quiet, scenery and fresh air alone are worth the trip, but the great food and general quirkiness are certainly a bonus.

Wellywood

Suppose you had to start over. Maybe the mob is looking for you and the witness protection program just isn't your style. You not only need to relocate, you also need a new identity fast. Europe is too close, the Caribbean is too obvious. What about New Zealand? Did it even make your list? I guess I can never go into hiding because now you all know that I'd be trying my luck as a kiwi.

Unusually warm weather and an exceptionally gracious hostess were perhaps the rose-tinted glasses through which I viewed and then of course fell in love with New Zealand. With only an extra long Easter weekend to explore kiwiland, we opted to focus only on Wellington, NZ's capital and visit the south island on a separate future trip.

I'd been imagining what Wellington would be like for a year now. Not because I'm obsessed with Lord of the Rings (LOTR) or anything, but because part of almost all my days in Switzerland were spent with my fellow au pair buddy, the sweet and stylish Hannah. Welly is her hometown and thus the backdrop of all her stories. She and I often dreamed and planned what would happen and where she would take me when I one day visited her. I'm thrilled that that one day turned out to be Good Friday and that we made those hypothetical plans a reality so soon. Most kiwis at the arrival hall were waiting for KISS (they dominated first class on our plane), but Hannah was there for us and we felt like rock stars in her care.

What struck me about Welly is that residents don't have to sacrifice big city comforts for scenic, country living. You can have the nice house, beautiful garden and quiet neighborhood yet drive/ferry/train into town for gourmet coffee. Not that I would know good coffee if it burned the taste buds off my tongue, but I'm told that Welly's roasters offer some of the best cups around.

In a country of four million people spread over two islands a little larger than the UK, space is plentiful, but not endless and the kiwis treat it accordingly. By the look of it, someone decided that they didn't want a chain restaurant or retail outlet on every corner. The result is a cityscape marked by hip restaurants, funky boutiques and of course, dozens of cafes. Thus, shopping in Welly can be an expensive, yet refreshing experience; kiwi designer shops are intermixed with the brands we know and may not love. Eating out, on the other hand, was reasonably priced by Australian standards. I didn't satisfy my hunger for NZ lamb (all the more reason to return), but we did sample some artisanally made chocolate from Schoc. Who knew sea salt and cardamom went well with milk chocolate? These guys apparently.

My guidebook featured a quote from Elijah Wood who spent years in NZ filming LOTR. At first I thought it was really stupid to quote an American actor of all people on NZ's beauty, but his words stuck with me throughout the trip. "NZ has all the landscapes you could imagine on Earth, and even some you can't."

On our first day out Hannah took us to Martinborough to sample some local wines. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see that the grapes thrived on rolling golden hills, just as they do in California and Tuscany. But as we ascended the mountain heading back toward town, we were transported to a lush tropical forest and I was reminded of Hawaii. I've read that there are geysers in the north and lakes and rugged glaciers to the south so maybe Frodo was right.

What impressed me even more than the landscapes, however, was the kiwi attitude toward land and the people who claimed it before the pakeha (Euopean New Zealanders), the Maori. Te Papa (meaning 'our place' in Maori) is NZ's national museum and the best national museum I've ever visited. Every sign and plaque is written both in English and in Maori. This was the first among many indications that native culture is fully embraced by the kiwi people. In my own country and Australia as well, the history of the relationship between European settlers and native peoples is one of violence, ignorance and pain. Te Papa presents what seemed to be a balanced picture of the struggle for control of the land. There was an acknowledgement that NZ's government discriminated against not only the Maori, but later waves of non-white immigrants as well. There was also evidence that they had learned from their mistakes. One of the most striking tributes to NZ's diversity are two rotating exhibits. One allows specific Maori tribes to tell their own story while another is dedicated to a particular immigrant group and both are changed every two years.

New Zealand was the first country that gave its women the right to vote in 1893 and a woman currently serves as its prime minister. Progressive values, great wine, friendly, English-speaking people and it looks like Middle Earth... why aren't we all there right now? Sadly, that's because the jobs in NZ aren't as plentiful or well paid as they are in Australia and elsewhere. That's why you'll find young kiwis seeking better economic opportunities all over the world. It must be sad to say goodbye to this island paradise, but maybe some find it too isolated. I'm sure the vacancies are quickly filled though by LOTR pilgrims, wealthy travelers and maybe even a few ex-gangsters on the run.