End of Our Australian Dream

Fishing on the Mornington Peninsula

Fast forward 18 months.

I will summarise the last two years in a few short paragraphs below.

We had completed our return to the 9 to 5 lifestyle.

Then there was the 2 months Paul worked in Perth leaving me feeling quite abandoned.  He left in around October 2013 and did not return until before Christmas.  The weather in Melbourne was really crappy until just before Christmas and our flat was cold and damp, Then I experienced my first 40 degree Melbourne day which can only be described as being placed in a fan assisted oven.  I knew how that turkey felt now!

Meanwhile Paul was working for a psychopathic Irishman building a trampoline centre somewhere on the outskirts of Perth, sharing a house with a load of blokes who bickered constantly and were barely able to scramble a meal between them (which meant cooking duties invariably fell to him unless it was barbecue night and he was knocked over in the rush to reach the burger tongs).  The weather was very Perth like - warm and sunny all day every day.  It rained once.  On the one day he chose to go fishing.  Which kind of summed up how our luck was going.

He returned to Melbourne at the same time as friends visited from the UK.  I was feeling lonely and isolated and had missed him more than I will even admit today.  Having spent nearly a year constantly in the other's company (and probably getting on each other's nerves by then, to be honest) he had then been wrenched away to the other side of Australia (a four day drive and as far from Melbourne as Cairo is from London) leaving me behind feeling increasingly lonely and isolated.

Our friends turned up at about the same time as Paul returned and it was not the best environment in which to try to reconnect.  While the time apart had undoubtedly done us good we needed time together.  We were still coming to terms with the end of the trip, the upheaval of starting a new life at our relatively advanced years and living in a strange country.  Suddenly from being lonely I was surrounded and we both felt like running away again.

I had also committed to a week's holiday in Queensland with my friend, snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef (I had to hold my tongue to stop unfavourable comparison to Indonesian reef) and the Daintree Rainforest where we had an amazing day out with Billy Tea tours (with a guide whose name escapes me but whose knowledge of the area was second only to his penchant for conspiracy theories).  I am glad I had the opportunity to visit this part of Australia but found it tailored very much to British tastes made more obvious by the number of Brits on holiday or retired there.

When our friends returned to the UK we regrouped and subconsciously set about doing our utmost to settle in and make the most of what we kept telling ourselves was an wonderful opportunity.  I embarked on a yacht crewing course for a few weekends which I enjoyed but shyness prevented me taking it any further.

Paul started a site manager's course at huge expense but in an attempt to fill in the gaps in his CV and in an effort to secure a more supervisory role (which he had the experience for but not the piece of paper).

I also attended Chinese classes at the Confucius Institute at the University of Melbourne and Paul joined me for a second term - this was probably the most enjoyable time we had as it conjured up memories of our trip and encouraged us to think about future travelling.

Paul invested rather a lot of money on fishing gear and we also splashed out on camping gear.  We went camping a few times but discovered that, unless you are prepared to drive for 3 days out into the bush, you will only find a pitch in a sprawling mass of other tents and caravans, not unlike the camping fields at a music festival but not quite so much fun, none of the music and far too many children.

When our lease was up on our little icebox of a flat we found a place with a little garden and set about making it a home for, we figured, two or three years.  We spent a fortune at the garden centre creating our own little oasis of flowers and vegetables (although a resident possum put paid to our actually tasting any of our home grown produce but we could live with that).

But nothing worked.

My job bored me to death, literally.  For the first year, I spent so much time at the photocopier I nearly cried with frustration that all my studying and almost 20 years experience of practising law seemed to count for nothing.  This was not helped by the barage of sarcastic comments by colleagues about hogging a machine I hated more than anyone could possibly imagine.

We both found our working environments similarly challenging.  Paul was treated with undisguised contempt for not knowing the Australian way (which, incidentally, was of a standard which would have been completely unacceptable in the UK).  Getting paid for his work was a constant battle meaning we were always living hand to mouth, never knowing when the next cheque would be paid, if at all).

I, in turn, was gobsmacked at the elitism and snobbery in my office, not to mention the extent of backstabbing and bullying which was practically unheard of in the law firms I had worked for in London and elsewhere in the UK.  It was an eye opener for both of us and tiring in the extreme.

We went fishing at weekends (we never caught anything except a snapping turtle and a fiddler ray), we went for walks along the beach, drives in the country; in short we tried really hard to make a go of it but we didn't fit and we were trapped.

And it didn't help that in September 2013 the Australian electorate voted for the most idiotic of Prime Ministers who, along with an equally morally bankrupt and inept government, sent the country backwards in terms of dehumanising asylum seekers, reversing climate change initiatives and scaremongering the state of the economy,  The PM was ridiculed home and abroad for his appearances on the international stage and three word slogans, stuttering each word he uttered at least three times so that if the material wasn't embarrassing enough the delivery was painfully so.  Last but by no means least was the slashing of funding to indigenous communities as well as the now infamous claim that those indigenous communities are simply making a lifestyle choice which should not be paid for by the ubiquitous hard working Australia family.  I found out enough about the Stolen Generation in the first 6 months by watching the acclaimed "First Australians" documentary series to know that these statements were at the very least disingenuous and at most downright offensive.  We weren't exactly enamoured by the politics at home at this point but by comparison it felt as if we were living in a parallel universe of political satire.

Slowly, we spiraled into a despair which we had not seen coming.

Then Paul applied for a job in Uganda and we went on holiday to Indonesia.  We returned to the Prince John Dive Resort in Donggala, were welcomed with open arms by the Germans like long lost friends and had the most amazing holiday where, to my amazement and with a huge amount of pride, I learne,d to Scuba dive.

Paul was shortlisted for the job in Uganda and while in Indonesia we researched and talked about whether we could do this, whether we could go to Africa to live, to a continent we had previously dismissed as being "too difficult".

After hours of talking and researching we decided unanimously that we badly wanted to do this.  We investigated accommodation and cost of living and researched the charity Paul would be working for and set ourselves up for a fall.  Of course, he didn't get the job and he was heartbroken, but it was to be the catalyst for our decision to sell our house in the UK and start again without any debts and make a different life for ourselves.

Which brings us to where we are now: planning a trip to Indonesia to dive the beautiful seas and trek the jungles of Sulawesi and Bornea, a train journey from Singapore, enrol a Celta course in Thailand before heading back to the UK to sort out the final loose ends, catch up with friends and family and press the re-set button and then, we don't know.  Vague plans are bandied about involving teaching in China, another trip to Cambodia, an overland truck around Africa, voluteering in India - all of the above and anything else we can think of.  Did I mention South America?

Nothing is set in stone as yet but we can see a light at the end of the tunnel.  We can make plans about our future, we can escape the ties that bind us in the form of debts and storage, and together start another journey which in a way will be more life changing than that the journey that started it all back in August 2012.

We are now fifty years old.  We are inspired by many but more importantly we are bound by a shared vision to live our dream and make the most of our time, see what we can of the world, learn as many languages and speak to as many people as we can and see as many fish as is humanly possible.

Time to start another Blog......

Dogs in Coats

There are a lot of dogs in Melbourne.  In particular, there are a lot of small dogs such as terriers, shih tzus and dachsunds.  There is even a pet shop at the shopping centre we frequent in Richmond where they display puppies in the windows and which I insist on visiting each time we go (which at the moment is every weekend).  They also had some gorgeous smoky grey and brown Burmese kittens but they had all been sold last time we visited but I digress.

In St Kidla, in particular, we see lots of gay couples walking their little dogs.  I hate to generalise but every time you see a man mincing down the street, he has at least one dog on the end of a lead, and it’s usually wearing a rather fetching jacket (the dog not the gay).

Obviously the presence of dogs is not strange in itself however the fact that almost every dog is wearing a coat of some description is, I think, worthy of comment.   I should point out that dogs in coats are not confined to those with gay owners.  Indeed, coats are not limited to those poor mutts lacking in an abundance of doggy fur and few of them are mongrels in the real sense as you can tell that the owners have splashed out a lot of cash for their faithful companion. 

It is almost comprehensible to see a dog that has recently been scalped after a visit to the doggy hairdresser to perhaps be sporting a tartan jumper but I really don’t understand why anyone would squeeze a poodle into a stripy jumper.  We even spotted an Afghan hound sporting a rather fetching knitted sweater and I can’t think of another dog species less in need of extra clothing in a mild Australian winter.  I didn’t know they manufactured dog coats big enough for Afghans who, surely, are the one breed of dog that doesn’t need a coat. 

It might be winter, but most dogs are generally endowed with a cosy fur coat of their own to fend off the chills and as the temperature rarely drops below 5 degrees at night and it is usually around 15 degrees at least during the day the poor creatures are probably unbearable hot. 

The fashion statements available on the high street for your canine chum are plentiful.  All fabrics and designs are available.  We often see puppies wearing coats hanging off their backs, obviously their owners dressing them up and thinking “oh, they’ll grow into it”.  We thought we had seen everything when we were sat out on the balcony earlier today, a lovely warm and sunny day with temperatures up to 18 degrees, when we saw a woman jogging past with her dog trotting behind her, wearing a pink knitted hoodie.  I ask you, what dog needs a coat when its running?

It seems that more dogs wear coats in Melbourne that don’t but perhaps that’s just our skewered perception.  Certainly, more dogs were coats in Melbourne that anywhere else I’ve been in the world.  At least they do not reside in handbags (as they increasingly do in the cities of China where pet ownership is becoming more popular and where we witnessed a fair number of dogs as accessories in places like Beijing and Xi’an.  Obviously in more rural and traditional cities, dogs remain wandering the streets which is of course preferable to being served up on a plate but again, I digress.

One of our neighbours in the flats has a little dog which is incredibly cute and used to have a thick coat of furry curls all over him so when he greeted you by jumping 3 feet into the air he gave the impression of being a very cute excitable bouncing ball of fluff.  He has recently been scalped and in fairness, despite the fact that he could probably do with a jumper after being stripped of his natural coat, they don’t dress him up. 

They are, and indeed their dog is, in a minority.  Mostly dogs in Melbourne wear tailor made coats.

There are some larger dogs around Melbourne of course.  The lady who lives in the house opposite has what I think is a neurotic Rhodesian Ridgeback.  That is, I think it’s a ridgeback but I know it’s neurotic.  It barks at everything and when I sitting outside on the balcony a little bored I whistle to see if it will go into a barking frenzy which it usually does.  It scares the hell out of people as they walk past but usually the little dogs bark back more ferociously before bravely running away.

But most of the dogs we see are of the smaller variety, presumably because most people live in apartments and it is easier to care for a small dog in a smaller space. 

And most small dogs wear clothes in Melbourne – that’s  a fact.

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One of the Lucky Few

My person experience of moving to a new country on the other side of the world has made me realise that I am a fortunate immigrant.

I am white, British, a native English speaker, and fairly adaptable and self sufficient.   For someone like me Australia is not strange; its intrinsic British empirical past still runs deep in a modern Australia which is a mixing pot of immigrants.  Many of the names are so familiar and transplanted from all over the UK it’s easy for me to forget I am so far away from home.

I can easily fit into Australian society primarily because I am white, the language is no barrier, and until I open my mouth could easily pass for a European native although a British accent is so common I feel like no stranger. 

However, anyone of colour, even if they are second or third or even fourth generation Australian, while very much a part of Australia as a county of immigrants, could easily be mistaken as someone who has just stepped off the boat (or more likely the plane) and of questionable visa status.  I do not have this potential prejudice to overcome.

Furthermore, I am lucky that I am the holder of a permanent visa with the option of applying for citizenship after 4 years, thanks to the fact that I am married to an Australian citizen (albeit one who puts his UK status first which is fair enough as he was born in London).  Many recent immigrants from anywhere over the world have restrictions imposed on their visa status such as where they can live and work, and the type of work they can do, and some arrivals are restricted to work for a sponsor giving them an incredible uncertainty about the future in the even that employment comes to an end for any reason.

The fact remains that the transition is, for me, an easy one.  I am perfectly aware of the fact that the opportunity to make a new start at this stage of my life with no restrictions placed on me is incredible good fortune particularly when I come from a relatively western country in the first place where previously I had a secure employment.  My employment sector is currently going through tough times and if I to find myself back home I would be unlikely to be able to find well paid work very easily.

It’s true that I am not able to find work as a lawyer and my current job is not exactly stretching my intellect but I do enjoy the environment and the people I work with and the wages are very good.  In time there may be an opportunity to take on more responsibility however the lack of responsibility is a bonus at the moment.

My new status as an immigrant has led me to consider the immigration history of my home country not least because of the anger that is being stirred up both in the UK and here about immigration, in an attempt (in my view) to demonise immigrants. 

In the UK, in our tiny little country off the north west coast of Europe, we have a rich tapestry of people who can trace their ancestry to all corners of the world, and who are as much a part of the fabric of our nation and society as a ginger haired Celt.  The UK continues to think of itself as separate from Europe, not just in terms of division from the mainland by the English Channel and the North Sea but as different from other European countries.  Sadly some people believe we are the superior power we were for but a moment in years gone by but those days of exploration and empire (if indeed they ever really existed) are long gone.

Britain would not be such a rich and diverse country without its rich and diverse population descended from countries from all corners of the globe.  Some immigration is of course connected to old days of Empire, when we ruled India, parts of the West Indies and a few countries in Africa (often with brutality and arrogance but let’s not allow ethics to overshadow those halcyon days).  However conquest of foreign lands does not explain all waves of immigration, some dating back centuries. 

The Chinese are not famous for their propensity to venture to far flung lands despite the fact that we all know there has always been a Chinese restaurant in every town in Britain (probably the world) since time began, but in fact the Chinese have been leaving China and coming to countries like England since ships sailed from the far east.  There is a huge Chinese immigrant population in western Canada (I can’t speak for the US) and here in Australia dating back to the Gold Rush in the 1850s and of course both these places are slightly more accessible to north east Asia than a tiny island country off the coast of north east Europe.

Jamaicans and other West Indians were encouraged to move to the UK in the 1950s to work on the railways, the underground and the buses, and are as much a part of the fabric of our society as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, as are the Indian immigrants who contribute hugely to our country bringing colour and spice in the way we relied on explorers to bring back exotic tastes of Asia centuries ago.

In more recent decades, with more restrictions on immigration in western countries, we now experience a wave of immigrants moving to safe havens from countries where they are persecuted, tortured and killed by reason of their race, creed or political beliefs.  This was once recognised as a humanitarian stance to take, as a world to take responsibility for persecuted or displaced persons and help them make a life for themselves free from fear.  Sadly there is plenty of evidence, from almost every western country with no exception known to me, that politicians in these privileged countries are increasingly and incessantly seeking to stigmatise these seekers of asylum, turning my fellow countrymen in both my home country and my adopted country against them, encouraging them to treat them with disdain, distrust and disbelief.

We should remember that for as long as people could communicate and travel, people have migrated to live in other parts of the world.  It’s what we do and we do it for all sorts of reasons, whether our work just took us off travelling and we settled far from home, or whether we set out in search of a better life and found it somewhere else.  Thousands of years ago, any one of us may have been slaves and taken by force and settled somewhere far from home with our masters.  It is worth remembering that a couple of thousand years ago, we were more likely to be born into slavery than born free.

Migration is not new and it is not usually a means to infiltrate and take over a host country although the British and other European countries have very good reason to fear this as a motive having been well practiced at it themselves.  The vast majority of people, and I would say those people that do emigrate to a strange country, with strange people who speak a strange language, are brave and likely to contribute much to their host country.  There are always the rotten apples and there always will be but whole swathes of good people, ambitious for their families and their futures, should not be tarnished with the brush of the few.

I am a fortunate immigrant.  I cannot even pretend to know what it is like to be so terrified, to have suffered so much, that I feel my only option is to risk my life and that of my family, to have the slimmest chance of a reasonable future, or even a future at all.  This is incomprehensible to me.  The fact that I cannot in a million years even imagine the desperation that leads someone to risk everything leaves me in no doubt that I am, indeed, one of the lucky few.

We had an opportunity (rare even for westerners at our age) to make a new start on the other side of the world and much of our decision was based on economics.   I am not fleeing from terror or persecution, but I am seeking a better life, a better job, and a better home.  I am not necessary looking to make my fortune but travelling has made to view life in a different way.  Life in Australia is better for us, for now.  I am more than fortunate to know that if that ceases to be the case, I can turn around and go home.

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Our First Week at Work

My tram arriving on a rainy
morning

Up at 5.15am with coffee in hand, sitting out on the balcony, shivering in the darkness, we slowly came to and pondered the day ahead.

Paul left at 6.00am, leaving plenty of time for his half hour journey, and I left at about 7.30am leaving me plenty of time to get lost on the tram system and still be at the office by 9.00am.

Resuming a Role in Society

Happily Paul had a whole weekend off after his second week and by the end of the weekend we had a new (second hand) coffee table and a brand new vacuum cleaner.  I was so pleased with my Red Devil upright vacuum cleaner I almost had to check myself and look in the mirror to see whether I had turned into someone else.

We returned from Bunnings (the 2 storey affair in a suburb north of Melbourne which Paul found rather disappointing, despite the hype) and while Paul unpacked various of his new toys, I set about assembling mine.

The new rug was looking in need a good clean with bits of fluff all over it and that was soon rectified with a 10 minute going over with my new Red Devil.  I also wanted to hoover the wooden floors but after 10 minutes sorting out the rug I was bored and decided I would leave the delight of doing the rest of the apartment for another day.  I had a feeling the novelty of housework, even with the help of my shiny new Red Devil, was going to wear off fairly soon.

It rained most of the second weekend so while we had both considered going out on Saturday night, the awful weather persuaded us it was a good idea to stay in and just wait until spring.

Paul made some soup from a couple of ham bones and lots of split peas while I tidied up around him.

As we were returning from our shopping expedition on Saturday Paul asked me whether Melbourne was starting to feel like home.  I wasn’t really sure how to answer that.  I was born and brought up in one place, left to live in Hampshire when I was still a teenager, left to live in London for 10 years, returned to Hampshire and then moved back up to London to set up home with Paul when we met.  I also had a brief spell in Wales which is something I try to forget but the conclusion I have come to is that I can make anywhere home so long as it satisfied certain criteria.  I couldn’t yet be quite sure what criteria were important to me at this stage and whether I would ever feel like I belonged here.

So in answer to his question I replied that I was indeed starting to feel that I actually lived in Melbourne and not that I was simply passing through.  I can’t deny I love the city – it has character and history, and where we live in St Kilda, 2 minutes from the beach, cannot be faulted.  Melbourne has the feeling of a “real” city about it.  It is somewhere that has humble beginnings but that has grown over its relatively short history (relative to Europe that is) to accommodate its migrants and its industry and, of course, its government. 

The impressive modern skyscrapers in the small central business district make that part of it appear very twenty first century.  As I pass through the city every day to and from work in Richmond just a couple of kilometres to the west, I love the way the ever-changing sky reflects against the glass exterior of the tall buildings, and in the evening as the sun starts to set for the evening, its rays find and spotlight the older brick buildings and seem to individually illuminate parts of them contrasting them against the newer state of the art architecture. 

One of my favourite views is that from St Kilda Pier across the marina to the city skyline which is very beautiful. 

My growing feeling of being a part of Melbourne was all of course helped by the fact that I had applied for, and been offered, a permanent role at the law firm as a legal assistant at the place where I was currently temping.  I felt a mixture of elation, relief and excitement when this was confirmed.  The money was good so I would be able to pay my parents back quite quickly and also set out about paying off my debts at home.  We would also be able to start enjoying living in this beautiful city although, as we both agreed at the weekend, we would wait until the warmth of spring was upon us. 

I should point out that it isn’t that cold in Melbourne, certainly not compared to a British winter, but you generally don’t get central heating here so it feels cold.  I suppose the reason for the lack of heating is that you generally won’t need heating for 9 months of the year whereas back home you can only turn the heating off for 3 months (if you’re lucky) so economical and effective central heating is a necessity in the UK.  In Melbourne it would be considered an expensive luxury so we are getting by our single electrically run oil radiator.  It is expensive but the alternative is too chilly to contemplate.

We have nothing more to report for now.  We just seem to be spending our time working, thankful we are working, settling into new life in Australia.  Once we have sampled the delights of a social life we shall report further.

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Changing Fortunes

The legendary Lunar Park in St Kilda

A lot can happen in 3 days.

After my parents granted us a reprieve with their kind loan we continued our relentless search for work.  I attended 2 interviews, one which didn’t go very well but it was good practice but the second interview I thought went very well indeed however I still didn’t get a job offer.

Paul continued to answer ads, sending his CV out to all and sundry, only to be harassed by marketing people when he applied for jobs on Gumtree (people selling advertising space place misleading ads and then try to get you to pay for advertising in some journal or another).  It was enough to drive you to distraction and he almost stopped looking on Gumtree altogether.

Desperate Times

Little penguins on Philip Island

With no work in sight we had to face some harsh realities.  Paul could get financial help from the state but I wasn’t entitled to anything (not surprisingly as I haven’t paid into the system) but neither could Paul claim for supporting me so the help Paul could get would not even meet the rent payments, never mind food and bills. Things were beginning to look a bit bleak.