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.

Counting Parrots and Peas

Parrots

While we waited rather impatiently for work to turn up, or more accurately, for our many applications to transform into something remotely resembling a job, we spent a lot of time twiddling our thumbs, sitting out on the balcony, watching the peas poke their little heads through the soil in the tubs, and counting the parrots who flocked to feed on sugar and water put out by our neighbours opposite. 

Finding Gainful and Meaningful Employment

Securing employment was to prove frustrating to say the least.  It had taken us 5 days to find the apartment and move in.  Paul wanted to be working by the following Monday.  However things didn’t happen like that in Australia and it took a while for us to settle in for the wait.

Boring but Essential Practicalities

There is so much to do before you can start functioning in another country.  Well, that is if you want to do it all legally and above board.  Luckily Paul was familiar with most of the systems although most of it has now been computerised which you would think makes the whole process easier but it doesn’t.

I deal below, in no particular order, with mobile phones and internet, tax file numbers, Medicare cards, bank accounts and ambulance cover.

Furnishing Our Nest

Peas on the balcony

As soon as we had word that we had been approved for the lease on the apartment we were able to start stocking up on essentials like crockery, cutlery and bedding.  We would also need a fridge (for beer, obviously) and we managed to find one on Gumtree;  the bloke threw in a washing machine for another $150 (we didn’t know at that time there were laundry facilities outside but even with hindsight it was a good investment).

Finding Somewhere to Call Home

The view from the balcony of our new home

We had 5 days booked in our temporary accommodation and Paul seemed to think that this was ample time in which to find somewhere to rent and be moved in by the weekend.  He is ever the optimist whereas I, on the other hand, given our lack of income, references and other such nonsense honestly didn’t believe this was possible.  As it turned out, however, the market favours tenants at the moment and lots of places were empty and ready for occupation.  Ever the pessimist I still had my doubts.  I like to think our relationship is a balancing act.

How Did We Get Here?

Leaving London by train

The answer to the question of how we got here is rather verbosely addressed in our Travel Blog but in short we travelled by train all the way to Beijing, through Europe and then along the Trans Mongolian railway route through Russia and Mongolia into China.  In China we travelled around by train and bus (and taxi, bicycle and camel), across the border into Vietnam by train and then alternated between train, bus and boat (flying to the Con Dao Islands as it was the only real option) until we reached Bangkok.  We also rode an elephant in Cambodia and while we love elephants dearly we don’t recommend them as modes of transport.

Why Are We Here?

Heading towards home

Back in 2010 life in the UK wasn’t going too well for a lot of people and seemed to be getting worse.  While Paul always found work as a self-employed carpenter, his wages have dropped in real and actual terms by a staggering amount over the last 10 years, partly as a result of the influx of labour from the Eastern European countries and partly as a result of the recession which began in 2008.