In Search of a Life Less Ordinary

The Passage of Time

2012-05-29T12:48:00.001+10:00

It was a photo of reasonable quality.

It had a sepia tone and the corners had curled. I imagine it might have a musty, papery smell that would make you want to inhale deeply and breathe in its age and memories. I say "imagine" because I could not touch or hold the photo, but only view it on my computer screen.

It was a school photo taken during the middle of winter in a different era. The trees in the background were gaunt and sickly-looking, deprived of their leaves. The students were lined up in the foreground and wore heavy, black blazers with warm, grey flannel trousers.

It seemed cold there.

He sat cross legged on the floor, arms firmly folded. The second person from the left, two rows from the front. Sporting a quiff of mousy-brown hair and with a pair of government-issued spectacles planted squarely on his face, he was surrounded by his grinning peers. He was the epitome of seriousness, staring ahead at the camera with a fixed intensity. He was a mere boy in his early childhood years. He was looking straight back at me.

My father, the schoolboy. My father, who turned 70 this week.

Photo credit: ToniVC (Flickr Creative Commons)

My father

Time marches swiftly on. It waits for nothing and no man.

The years have accumulated and my father celebrated a significant milestone this week. He will reflect on the photograph taken at that school in those early years and likely remember the anticipation he felt at all that his life would come to hold.

He will look back on the course that his life took and think back to the things he achieved that could never have been imagined before.

His marriage to a local woman with British-Canadian heritage.

The birth of two healthy children into a loving family.

The fulfillment of business interests and the nurturing of passions - to travel abroad, to create in the garden, to explore closer to home.

A life unexpected.

His son

To my own schoolboy photo and that familiar mop of hair. The same serious face, this time touched with a hint of a grin. Taller. Skinnier. A more inquisitive nature. Similar but different.

Time moves forward and this life took varied and unexpected turns.

My own journey.

Undergraduate study in the Midlands, returning south to the family home, Sarah, my dogs, an old English cottage, leaving England for Canada, crossing Canada, working for foreign governments, reconnecting with my grandfather's own story, departing Canada and then...

To Sydney, Australia and a life far removed.

First marriage then loss, creating a nest, growing a family. Three countries, three continents, and soon three people.

New beginnings

Several weeks have passed since the announcement of my big news.

There is a noticeable spring in our steps and anticipation in the air. My wife's belly grows bigger and my dog and I regard each other knowingly. Life is about to change.

It will never be as it was. New responsibilities lie ahead for this father-to-be. A traffic light of emotions moves hourly from nervousness to slightly overwhelmed to entirely overjoyed.

But time will continue to pass relentlessly.

The little 'he' or 'she' will grow quickly and their own life will begin to take shape. One day, they will have their own school photo. It will capture a precious moment in time as mine and my father's did.

My first child will stand to attention, formed up in front of the photographer.

Will they don that trademark seriousness? Will they stare intensely at the camera? Will they consider their unfolding life, full of promise and potential, opportunity and expectation - and, born into Sydney, poles apart from my own and my father's?

As one generation celebrates a milestone, a new generation waits patiently. The next chapter in our lives has begun and my little one's journey in life has started.

I wonder just how extraordinary it will be.

Did your child's journey develop differently to your own? Did you raise your children internationally? How have things turned out?

Do provide any pearls of wisdom for this father-to-be below or simply share your own generational experiences.

The Day Social Media Took Over My Life

2012-05-18T16:19:00.001+10:00

The day started out much like any other.

I woke up, showered, got dressed, walked the dog, wolfed down my breakfast, and jumped into my car for the daily commute to Sydney.

My iPhone sat expectantly by my side on the journey in. I duly obliged it by checking my Twitter account. Then my Facebook page. Then Google+.

Once in the office, I logged on to Hootsuite to check the early morning tweets from my follow lists in Australia and further afield. Simultaneously, I went back into Facebook to update the ISOALLO fan page and opened LinkedIn to respond to an invitation to connect (then updated my profile, searched for new connections, and shared a link to my latest blog post).

A quick check of my Pinterest board and a hunt around for possible friends on Goodreads, before I finally settled down to do some 'paid' work. It was now 10am but I remembered I had to set up a few scheduled tweets for the remainder of the day. I also wanted to read the online newspapers and share a couple of articles with the Twitterverse when...

...damn it, I'd completely forgotten to share all of this on ISOALLO's Google+ page, Digg, Delicious and StumbleUpon, which would take at least another half hour. By now, I'd received an email with a link to the latest social media tool "well worth looking at" and "the next BIG thing". It was suddenly midday and my boss needed a document from me urgently. I was stressed out, overwhelmed, and rapidly losing my day to what?

Overcommitment? Procrastination? Or was social media plainly taking over my life?

Photo credit: Emilie Ogez (Flickr Creative Commons)

I'm not alone

The sad thing was that this day was much like any other. My use of social media had spiralled out of control.

I'm spending half of my day moving between my various social media platforms but I know I'm not alone in this. Whether we're expats, Sydneysiders, travellers or cultural spelunkers (my personal favourite), it's obvious we're spending a LOT of time twittering, friending, stumbling, posturing and plus one-ing.

What's more, with my the majority of my community spread to the four corners of the globe, it's proving to be a challenge to manage with different timezones, varying attitudes, and diverse tastes and preferences to take into account.

Since the arrival of social media and then the birth of my blog, I've become hardwired to follow and to share, to like and to recommend.

My use of social media is borderline obsessive.

Why this is bad

It can be a trap.

For me, the reality about social media is that it sucks the time out of my life. I can be scanning through Facebook updates and checking Twitter lists when, the next thing I know, an hour or two has passed. Social media is engaging, entertaining, informative and entirely seductive by nature - and it is this that swallows up so much of my time. Every single day.

It's not productive.

Without discipline and self-control, social media can be overwhelming and distracting. It's far too easy to switch seamlessly between the different apps without stopping to determine what's actually been achieved.

Did I get that article written? Did I brainstorm future blog post ideas? Did I send out that feature outline?

No, of course I didn't because I'm drifting through a world of information overload with little sense of what is being achieved on this day. Worse still, my mind has been permanently set to 'scan' mode. I can no longer digest information and sweetly savour its message. Now I skim, scan and send out.

It stops me from doing what I love.

It's impossible to write as often and as much when I'm flicking between Digg and Delicious. Wasting most of my morning on social media stops me from writing for an audience where my voice is actually welcome. Instead, my time is spent time putting words out into an electronic universe that at times can feel like a black hole.

So what to do?

Social media is a necessary evil in the blogging world - and in society at large to some extent.

We need it to connect, to share, to build an audience and to engage. However, it's a largely unreal world. I don't see people face-to-face and conversation is limited to 140 letters. It can be a frustrating, often intimidating environment - and one without obvious reward.

But it's not all bad.

I appreciate and enjoy my time online catching up with old friends and new acquaintances. I've had the privilege of meeting interesting people and the pleasure of discovering fascinating material. Social media plays an important role in its own distinct way. It’s a means of being entertained and educated but, like anything, it should be enjoyed in moderation.

And this goes to the heart of my own social media use.

It's unhealthy for any one thing to take up so much of my time. If it’s all about social media all of the time, it can quickly become a chore, not a pleasure.

Like anything, it's about balance and it's about being clever with my time.

How much time do you spend on social media? Do you think it's too much?

PS. Try this handy on-screen tool, recommended by The Write Practice, as a way to manage the time you spend on social media. Or, indeed, on anything.

My Big News

2012-05-09T16:27:00.001+10:00

It's been a week for big news here at In Search of a Life Less Ordinary.

First of all, I got to the finals of the Best Australian Blogs 2012 competition (by the way, the winner is announced on 10 May).

Now I get to share my biggest news of all.

This journey is about to take an incredible and exciting turn because... we're having a baby!

Photo credit: Stuart Miles / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I'm as proud as punch to share this news. I've been keeping it to myself for what seems like ages.

On 12 November, our small family will grow as a new addition arrives. He or she will emerge to a life we've created over here by the ocean and our little Scorpio boy or girl, our very own Australian water baby, will hopefully thrive.

I already have the mini-Speedos lined up, the Malibu surfboard picked out. It's too soon to go looking for sunnies and board shorts but I'm confident the kid will like my choice of thongs.

I can't describe how strange it is to patiently wait for the arrival of a baby born to a country not my own, but it's exciting and quite different and even slightly sublime.

We've travelled a long road to get here.

Physically, we've covered thousands of kilometres and crossed continents to arrive at this place. To reach a point in time where we feel settled and ready to be good parents.

Emotionally, the road has been just as long.

Fraught with anxiety and fear, the path hasn't been easy for us but, with an outcome like this, it's no longer of consequence. We're here, we're happy, and we plan to enjoy this tiny creation for all it's worth.

There will no doubt be challenges ahead.

We'll be raising a child with parents from opposite sides of this planet. It will be born into a world of uncertain economic times albeit entering into a country that, for now, is safe and still strong.

This new life brings with it great hope and anticipation.

This baby will be loved by its British-Aussie parents. It will be adored by its international family - in the UK, Canada, New Zealand, America and here in Oz. And this 'little Vegemite' will share in the immense experiences and joy that we've found through travel and on our journey so far.

This week has been a truly great week and I'm so pleased to be able to share my big news with you here today.

I'm a Finalist! (So I'm Good At What I Do, Right?)

2012-05-02T15:12:00.001+10:00

I didn't see this coming.

I turned on my Twitter feed a few days ago to some incredible news.

In Search of a Life Less Ordinary had been selected as a finalist in the personal/lifestyle category of the Best Australian Blogs 2012 competition organised by the Sydney Writers' Centre.

As one of only eight finalists in this category and chosen from 1,100 submitted blogs, it was the kind of news that made me stare at the screen of my laptop, mouth agape and eyes agog.

I'd completed the online application with no serious aspirations of any kind. This was a national competition that attracts vast numbers of highly talented bloggers from across Australia's blogosphere and my little website about my small journey was a far cry from the power bloggers attracting hundreds of comments and gazillions of page hits on any given day.

When the finalists were announced and my name was included, I sat and stared, maybe even dribbled slightly. The realisation kicked in that I was now a finalist in a major blogging competition run by writers and focused almost entirely on writing.

This therefore makes me good at writing what I write... right?

Photo credit: Steven Depolo (Creative Commons)

There are great writers out there

I'd like to believe I'm a strong writer but there's a lot of competition out there. A vast group of talented writers producing fantastic content on a regular basis.

Some make unbelievable noise, generate massive followings, receive comments by the bucket load, and gain enough page hits to make you gaze at their sites in awe.

Others won't ever be discovered. There are hugely exciting blogs down under that will never make it beyond their own small communities and many great writers that may never make it out from amongst the ever-increasing Internet chatter.

My own writing is just one small voice amongst this blogging cacophony and, judging by the calibre of the writing in this popular competition, I am up against some pretty competent scribes.

So how can I ever really know if what I write on this page is worthy of my readers' loyalty?

Feedback is king

As bloggers and writers, the most pressing dilemma is whether we write the kinds of things our readers want to hear about and whether we write this well.

One solution and a veritable golden nugget is constructive feedback.

We can search for this through our blog post comments, but comments are generally positive in nature. I'll occasionally receive a useful critique of my work or a positive suggestion to take a different direction. In most cases, blog readers may be less likely to be negative if there's a chance it could impact upon their perceived standing across the wider blogging community.

I get that, I do.

We can gauge our writing quality by page views and hits, but does this honestly tell us what we're doing right and where our strengths can be found? If I avoid posting for a week or two, I'll watch the page views rise. If I post 3 or 4 times in a week, I'll see the numbers drop.

I recently wrote about blogging frequency and, judging by the reaction, most of you agree that blogging more often doesn't make for better reading.

Maybe at the heart of good writing and blogging, alongside raw ability, is reliable gut instinct and a knack for knowing what works well with a commitment to writing the very best you can.

Writing recognition rules

The truth is that it's impossible to ever fully know whether what we write is... well... right.

But the greatest feedback. The most inspirational feedback. Surely that comes from making the finals of #BestBlogs2012 and getting affirmation that your work is heading in the right direction (even if I do say so myself).

In a few day's time, the esteemed judges of the Best Australian Blogs 2012 will decide whether my writing stacks up and if In Search of a Life Less Ordinary should be more than a finalist.

Whatever the outcome, it's reward enough to know that a major city's writing centre running a national blogging competition with a 70% focus on writing ability has chosen my work to be in its select list of finalists. It confirms that I'm on the right track and gives me growing confidence in my craft.

I'm forever grateful for this blog and the platform it's provided. I'm entirely appreciative of my loyal audience - expats, travellers, nomads, wanderlusts, the plain curious, and of course Sydneysiders and Australians alike - and the opportunity I've been given to share my search for that path less ordinary, this life lived abroad.

My aim has always been to write well and seek a positive reaction to that writing. Becoming a finalist in the #BestBlogs2012 proves that I must be doing something right... right?

So how do you know if you're any good at writing what you write? What do you rely on to improve your craft?

Share with me in the comments below.

PS. You can also vote for In Search of a Life Less Ordinary in the People's Choice Awards. Simply follow this link and search for the blog to cast your vote: Vote here

PPS. A big congrats to the other finalists in the personal/lifestyle category who are: All Consuming, Edenland, Interiors Addict, Magento Bold too!, Not Quite Nigella, Taste Explorer and Tune Into Radio Carly.

Finding Love When You Least Expect It

2012-04-26T20:56:00.002+10:00

Do you ever really find love when you most expect to?

My own journey - and the journey of others like me - says you probably don't.

I spent last Saturday evening celebrating the birthday of a good friend's wife. We arrived at their ground floor apartment terrace to the distinctive rhythm of Latin American music, colourful garden lights twinkling from up high on the marquee, and the mouthwatering aroma of chicken and beef skewers grilling on the barbeque.

Chilled drinks were served and a mix of Spanish-English chatter ebbed and flowed around me. Half-closing my eyes and with the warm autumnal air on my face, I could have been in Europe. In Spain. In fact, anywhere by the Mediterranean.

Surrounded by a lively cocktail of Colombians, Israelis, Australians and Brits, it was a Saturday night with a uniquely international flavour - and the partygoers shared more similarities than first met the eye.

Photo credit: Photography by BJWOK / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Following similar paths

Engaging with old friends and new acquaintances alike, I realised we all had something in common.

Each of us was sharing our lives with a partner from a different place. From a country far removed from our own.

My British friend, Simon, and his Colombian wife, Lynn. His brother, Mark, married to Mel, an Australian. Tom, also from Australia, and Malu from Colombia. Scotsman Grant and his Israeli wife, Ilana. Aussie Dave with Vicky, another Colombian.

And I with my wife, Sarah. My own beautiful piece of Australia.

As the aguardiente was raised, I wagered a bet that once upon a time none of us could have imagined we'd be sat on this terrace at this party in this city sharing our lives with soulmates from around the world.

My unexpected love

I grew up in the south of England with an immediate curiosity in the world at large and an early desire to explore the environment around me. Part-English, Canadian, Welsh and Irish, overseas adventure was always on the cards.

I met my wife, Sarah, in my 20's. At the gym of all places. In a BodyPump class. My step behind hers. A fascinating place to find love and romance.

Treading water in my early career, I yearned to fly the coup and explore. Sarah was a shining light of positivity and worldliness in my small southern English town of grey. She saved me from the boredom of a life lived in front of the television or at the shopping mall or down the pub. She was also quite a good-looking sort.

Within two years, we were headed to Canada on the first leg of our travel adventure together.

I didn't intend to find Sarah but, deep down, I always knew I'd been searching for her.

I wanted someone with a passion for living life, not just getting by. I wanted to see and do extraordinary things with a like-minded friend and partner, not just follow the routine 9-5. And I wanted to be with someone who loved her own home as much as mine and, more importantly, wanted to share it openly with me.

Sarah gave me all that and more.

A world of positives

This journey from there to here has been remarkable and committing to someone from a different country has been no small thing.

We've had our ups and, sure, we've had our downs. From being far from loved ones to the travel distance between familial homes and the ever-present uncertainty regarding how long we live in which place are ongoing issues that will no doubt follow us to the very end.

But the understanding we have of each other runs deeper than water. We've lived in each other's countries. We've experienced how tough it is to be away from immediate family and friends. We intuitively know each other's thoughts and instinctively protect each other when the need arises as if second nature.

We are culturally enriched from exposure to each other's homes and histories, traditions and celebrations. We appreciate each other for what we bring to the table and are forever grateful for the sum of both our parts.

At the terrace party last Saturday, I saw that deeper understanding and affection in the eyes and actions of the others. They were there for each other, for the long haul, through thick and thin. And by embracing their differences and welcoming diversity, they'd created a strong and loving community within which to settle, establish and grow.

As for my story, I guess I never really expected to find the love of my life on that early morning at that gym in that southern English town.

And that, for me, has been the most pleasantly surprising thing.

Have you found love where you least expected it? Did you find love along an overseas journey of your own or did you set out with soulmate in hand as I did?

Do share your own story below.

One Dir Are Here And Here's What I Think

2012-04-12T13:14:00.001+10:00

The word went out early Tuesday evening on Facebook. They'd been spotted in Manly, a local beach suburb. And drinking at Hugo's no less.

After screaming hysterically for an entire five minutes and dancing my way around the house with hands in the air and shapes being thrown, I jumped in the car, whacked the stereo on high to the sounds of 'One Thing', and drove the fifteen minute journey at high speed to find them.

Prepared for the biggest moment of my life, ever, I shoved the car into the nearest available parking spot, unfurled my favourite poster, pulled on my beloved t-shirt, and legged it over to the growing group of fanatics gathered outside the wine bar. We stood, we waited, we shared gossip, we laughed, we cried, we gripped each other's hands tightly in anticipation of their arrival. My idols.

Then the word went out on Facebook for the second time that night. It was all a big, fat hoax. A false sighting. A rumour. A vicious, dirty lie. They weren't drinking here after all. Never had been, never would be. They were down by the harbour, enjoying an early evening swim and sharing the limelight with other die hard fans. My precious idols were currently being adored by a bunch of undeserving little brats. It was beyond belief. I was devastated...

Now, if this story was true and if I was a teenage girl bursting with teenage hormones, then this might actually be the case. But if you live within 1,000km of Sydney, and unless you were whisked off to Mars late yesterday, you would have heard that the latest teen pop sensation to blast out of the UK landed here in Sydney on Tuesday. One Direction has finally arrived in the land down under.

One Direction. Photo credit: Irfaan Photography (Creative Commons)

This popular troupe of British and Irish lads touched down to what can only be described as complete and utter pandemonium. Sydney Airport was packed to capacity with screaming teenagers intermittently breaking into 'What Makes You Beautiful'. One friend flew into Sydney and was greeted by thousands of these teeny tiny One Directionites whilst another was diverting an air ambulance to the Botanical Gardens to rescue a fan who'd fallen out of a tree in uncontrollable excitement. Tuesday was sheer poptastic chaos and there is a teen frenzy in town.

Later that night, the biggest thing in mainstream music since Bieber cut his hair moved onto the suburb of Manly (allegedly) on the Northern Beaches to enjoy an orange juice or two by the water. Outsmarted by the paparazzi, the 'boys' took a quick dip in the harbour before preparing for the next few days of unadulterated media hype. And that hype was spewing left, right and centre - from the national radio to the local newspapers, online forums to TV chat shows, the airwaves of Sydney were filled with the music of One Direction and interviews with the fabulous five.

So who exactly is One Direction?

I'm too old to know but I do. Heralding from a third place finish in the seventh series of the UK's X-Factor, the dapper five are as manufactured as the Ford motor car. When individually they failed to remain in the 'single artist' category, it was suggested that they form a band and enter the 'group' category instead. The rest, as they say, is history and Britain's latest pop phenomenon is on a trajectory to greatness yet they've not even climbed out of their teens (with the exception of the old boy of the group, 21 year old Louis).

So do boy bands like One Direction put the 'Great' back in Britain? Should I feel pumped with pride at the sight of such a roadshow of fame and fortune gracing these distant shores? Does it make me want to return home for more of this commercial fare or stay right where I am on the other side of the world?

I'll admit to a teeny tiny fluttering of pride at the arrival of these megastars from back home and thoughts that maybe Britain does it best when producing the boy band (alongside our American cousins). In my mind, Australia is too cool (and rightfully so) to produce anything so cringe worthy.

The UK has often proved how good it is at taking a seemingly average group of guys with the absolute bare minimum of talent, activating a hype machine the likes that NASA would be proud of, and sending these poor kids skyhigh into mainstream entertainment orbit. And they've done it before in the boy and girl band stakes, feeding us more of the same manufactured carbon copies until you'd think we'd had enough but no... think Bros, Take That, the Spice Girls, even Boyzone and Westlife. The boybands just keep on coming. In fairness, pop bands are the tip of the creative iceberg and Britain is well known for encouraging, developing and celebrating artistic talent, self-expression and all-round creativity... isn't it?

So I started thinking about whether some places are better at embracing creativity and nurturing talent than others - and where the best place is to be an aspiring creative.

What do you think? Are some countries better for inspiring and encouraging creativity? Or is it more about the individual than the place? Where is your best creative place?

Would love to hear your thoughts.

PS. I think I just wrote a post about a boy band... I never would have believed it.

Sydney: An Englishman's Parallel Universe

2012-04-02T15:27:00.000+10:00

Walking up to the door, it seemed like a regular enough building. Rectangular and squat. Yellowy-orange brickwork and a flat tiled roof. Rusted lettering peeling away from the heavy swing door. An uninspiring and bland piece of design. But then it was just a toilet block.

Yet there was something uncannily familiar about this average-looking toilet block. Something almost homely about it.

Then I realised why.

I'd seen this building before. Many times before. This was exactly the kind of public amenity block you'd find across the length and breadth of England. In busy town centres, regional cities, even in the occasional village. This Sydney toilet block was a very English place to go for a pee.

The difference was that this very ordinary toilet block had multi-million dollar views. Set on the edge of the beach at Balmoral, it overlooked the entrance to Sydney's harbour, was surrounded by opulent waterfront properties and Sydneysiders with more money than sense, and faced a string of high-end restaurants and cafes lining the promenade.

It was a completely English occurrence sat a million miles away from home.

And this is the paradox of Sydney.

A parallel universe. Photo credit: rasdourian (Creative Commons)

As you walk around this world-class city with its iconic beaches, faultless weather and sparkling deep water harbour, it is a city as far removed from any in England as the 17,000kms that separate the two. However, there remains those English throwbacks in Sydney that make it less of a polar opposite and more like a parallel universe.

The national dish here is not a serving of Balmain bugs, saltwater barramundi or prime rib of kangaroo, but the nation's most loved meal is the 'meat pie with veg', a food stuff as English as the pint of beer.

When someone behind me in a queue recently asked his companion "Are youse lot coming over to my place at the weekend?", my head snapped around looking to pick out the Scouser from Liverpool. But this is the Sydney accent - a uniquely Australian mix of broad northern English dialects and occasionally the odd bit of Cockney rhyming slang thrown in for good measure.

The television programming here has a distinctly British flavour - from the witty comedies produced on the ABC to the regular flow of redeveloped variety and talent shows from the past. When I lived in Canada, the best of British on TV was Coronation Street but here I can watch almost any show coming out of Britain and often aired mere weeks not months after their British premieres.

Sport cannot hide its true origins. In Canada, I was exposed to uniquely North American fare including ice hockey, American football, baseball and lacrosse. Upon arrival in Australia, it was as if a spaceship picked me up in the night and dropped me in England... but in the sun. I watched cricket played in front of palm trees and red gums, rugby league under a bright winter's sun with a schooner of lager in hand, and soccer in a Central Coast stadium with picturesque views over and along the Brisbane water.

So much of Sydney's history and culture is derived from Britain but those sneaky little oddities - the toilet blocks by the ocean, the sight of a double-decker bus crossing the Harbour Bridge, the seat of Parliament in the Central Business District, the morning games of lawn bowls played at the local bowling club - continue to persist if you look long and hard enough about you.

Read the local press and you'd be forgiven for thinking the English and Australians live at absolute polar opposite ends of the earth in more ways than one. In reality, the people and places here are less different and, for better or worse, more often the same.

This makes Sydney an Englishman's parallel universe and that, for me, is quite a comforting thing.

What subtle English throwbacks have you seen in Australia?

Are there similarities from your own previous 'home' where you currently live - things that make you do a double-take or give you some comfort?

A Pledge to Read the Printed Word

2012-03-25T20:09:00.001+11:00

I made a solemn pledge last year... A pledge to read the printed word.

I didn't swear the pledge in front of a row of witnesses, write it in my own warm blood, or chant it before the high altar of grave and earnest oaths, but it was serious and it was well intentioned. I would support the printed word in the face of emerging digital technologies and increasingly electronic print.

Then I bought an iPad in the autumn. Followed by a Kindle at Christmas.

I'd sold out. Betrayed the very cause I believed in. And no doubt helped contribute to the demise of the blessed book. Or so I thought.

Photo credit: Alan Cleaver (Creative Commons)

The printed word is important

Online conversation would have us believe we're destined to live in a world of electronic words with little or no role for the age-old printed word. Given this, how soon will it be before there is no printed word? One day will we read online only? Will the world's libraries shrink or, worse, disappear? Will the book cease to exist?

Depressing, isn't it? But the printed word is too important to die out.

Sundays aren’t Sundays without a coffee and the weekend paper. Would we sit at the kitchen table, each family member lost in their individual, personalised, applicationised tablet or e-book reader?

A world without libraries is a world without mystery and enchantment, a world without sanctuary for the devoted and dedicated reader, a world without a place to fill our heads with hope that extraordinary life exists far beyond those four walls. Surely this could never be?

And reading in print form is a welcomed and refreshing change from staring bog-eyed at an electronic screen throughout the day... isn't it?

A world without books

A world without books is a travesty.

Books are the very essence of reading and of escapism - not just the words they carry on their fragile pages but the vivid dreams they bring to bear. I can readily escape into the depths of a book but I cannot hide within the hard skin of a plastic e-reader.

The book is tactile. It is comforting to the touch. Its weighty feel. Its supple cover. The crinkle of the pages as they're turned and the delightful smell that emits from those pages.

Whereas the Kindle is slim and sleek. Modern and purposeful. Cold and calculating in its determination to deliver the electronic word seamlessly to you. It is a different beast altogether.

Imagine entering a house where hundreds of books are on display. You learn about the person who owns these books. In a house where you browse the shelves for your own favourite reads, you find another's choices and understand a little something of their character or personality, likes and dislikes. An electronic reader doesn't tell you anything. A iPad might only say "look at me".

Now here's the rub.

I actually quite like my Kindle and I think my iPad is a revelation.

When I travel, the Kindle fits neatly in my backpack. It weighs less than a book yet can carry umpteen books inside. It's an easy and convenient read when sat on the beach, lying in my garden hammock, or squeezed up next to someone on the bus. It is a revolution of sorts.

My iPad is the essence of Apple. It is beautifully designed. It is technologically sublime. It is entertainment personified and it has its place in a corner of my world.

But neither will ever replace my passion for the common book.

I understand there's a place for the Kindle, the Nook, the iPad, the Next Big Thing, but they won't - and can't - move me from my love of the printed word. I haven't lugged this precious cargo of books from country to continent, city to town, only to give it all up at the first sign of a fight.

Renewing my pledge

So we come back to the pledge... to read the printed word.

The pledge supports the printed word in all its forms: newspapers, magazines, and of course, books.

The pledge thinks that reading on computers or phones or whatever is fine, but it cannot replace the experience of reading words printed on paper.

The pledge is a commitment to continuing to read the printed word in the digital era and beyond.

So I'm sorry, dear Kindle, dear iPad, dear Nook, I may enjoy your company but you're show stealers, not trusted lifelong friends. It's therefore time to renew my commitment to the printed word... Because I couldn't imagine a world without one, could you?

Do you have a Kindle? Do you prefer the printed word? Or do you enjoy both? And have you taken the pledge?

Let me know what you think below.

Seeing Everything And Wanting It All

2012-03-14T15:58:00.006+11:00

“We’ve just had 61 centimetres of snow in the last week… such great conditions.”

“Another amazing powder day today with more snow on the way Monday!”

“The slopes have received 32 feet of snow to date!”

It’s enough to make me groan out loud.

This year has been phenomenal for the folks in Whistler, British Columbia. Reports of fresh dumps of snow greet me every morning as I scroll through the bookmarked websites on my computer. As most of the northern hemisphere moves rapidly into Spring, the western limits of Canada continue to enjoy record snowfalls on the slopes.

The constantly falling snow has revealed a character flaw of mine on this journey: I've become far too greedy.

I've seen remarkable things, had exhilarating experiences, been blessed with unique opportunities, simply done too much.

And I want all of it. In one place. Right on my doorstep.

Photo credit: TGillen (Creative Commons)

Opening a box of delights

When I hear of Whistler's recurring powder, when I see constant images of its white cloudy peaks and overflowing bowls, when I cast my mind back to carving across those expansive slopes, past deep snow drifts and along trail upon trail of the freshly fallen soft stuff prized by skiers and snowboarders alike, you can hardly blame me for missing it.

Sometimes it’s just too much to bear.

The problem with this journey is that every day presents new opportunities. Every waking minute produces extraordinary sights, smells and sounds not found before. Every virgin step delivers an exciting and often unexpected turn.

It's a problem because you want to keep every single one of these experiences close by and continue to experience them over and over and over.

When I left the UK in 2003, I opened a gigantic Pandora's box of encounters that I've not been able to close in the years since. When I lived less than two hours from Whistler, I discovered a love of skiing and snowboarding that I'd not known I had in me. I found a land of ski schools, snow ploughs, terrain parks and back country. And don't even let me get started on the apres ski.

I was privileged to be given a window into a world far removed from that of my homeland. And I liked what I saw.

But it wasn't to be forever.

No place like home

I like the place I currently call home. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.

With a 14km stretch of world-renowned beaches and pristine waterfront, I'd be mad to dislike it. A few weeks ago, I wrote about the sights, sounds and smells of an Australian beach - and how I'd struggle to ever live away from this beach side environment.

So believe me when I say "I really do like it here".

But the snow we get in Australia is akin to a sprinkling of talcum powder on a baby’s bottom – a fine dusting at best and of no comparison to the winter wonderland found in the world’s number one ski resort. It's not the same here and, at this time of year, I pine for all of that ski and snow.

The moral of this story is that I love what I have but I want what I left behind. That is the crux of the problem.

Working it out

There's no easy answer, no quick fix to apply. When moving abroad, you pick up your life and move far and wide, yet you also gain a bucket-load of living that no ordinary life can provide.

You see and do amazing things, meet inspiring people, live outstanding lives, but each time you move on, you're forced to give up a few of those extra special moments. It's the price that you pay. And sometimes the things you give up are harder to accept than the things that you gain.

I've been spoilt for choice. My brain has suffered a sensory overload of the life I've led elsewhere and the life I'm living here.

If only I could take a little piece of paradise from every corner of the globe, if only I could bring a little bit of each place back with me, I'd sure as hell start with 61 centimetres of fresh snow and a ski resort like Whistler.

The problem with seeing too much? You can't help but want it all.

Have you seen too much and want it all? What are you missing from a former life? What would you miss if you had to move on?

As always, feel free to leave your comments below.

Blogging the Way I Do

2012-03-06T16:00:00.006+11:00

I'm always looking for ways to improve my blogging in the hope of making In Search of a Life Less Ordinary as good a read as it can be.

In writing and blogging circles, they apparently say that content is king. With that in mind, my aim is to produce a weekly dose of stimulating reading that covers this adventure of ours without you, the reader, falling asleep by the second paragraph. With any luck, you might even come back for more!

Recently I've noticed a worrying trend out there in the blogosphere. Some of my fellow writers are posting three or four times a week, sometimes even five, which has got me a little concerned. Is this good practice? Should I be posting as often as these guys? Am I therefore not serving my readership adequately?

Am I simply not posting enough?

Photo credit: Alexander Baxevanis (Creative Commons)

If I've got something to say

My rule of thumb has always been to write a blog post when I feel I have something good or important to say. No exception. I don't want to share meaningless drivel and I see no point in describing the local news and weather conditions so I generally write when I have one of those 'aha' moments (which often occur in the unlikeliest of places).

Spending at least a couple of hours writing up the post, editing and polishing it off, I like to think I'm doing it slightly differently - by focusing on quality rather than quantity.

I may not get it right but I only want to share something that's worth sharing - and that's usually once a week. I hope that, given this weekly strategy of mine, every time I do share, you might actually be listening?

What other bloggers do

Other bloggers out there seem to post with greater frequency - and about almost everything and anything. It's also true that a lot of bloggers think that what we do is purely a numbers game - the more posts you put out, the better the return in terms of readers, page views and the blessed site 'hit'. But is this really the case?

I watch these bloggers trying to keep up with each other. They fill the gaps between extremely well-written posts with usually less-than-average content, almost as if they're trying to keep it going, fearful of the effect that a lack of posting will do to their stats.

I'm okay at this blogging malarkey and my readership is steady and loyal. When I post more often and write about the pie I ate for lunch or the haircut I had last week, it doesn't feel right and it misses wide of the mark. If I'm bored or lacking satisfaction when writing the post, how can I expect my readers not to run for the hills? I'd be right there with them!

Being different

I try to be different and work away from what is considered the norm - my journey in life is my example. I do still wonder if it's the wrong strategy - who knows what really turns people on and, equally, what turns them off.

For me, it's not about blogging frequency. Every time I publish a post, I'm aware that I'm representing myself and my writing. If posting more often then reduces that appeal, it's not for me.

If I'm not blown away by an idea or a suggestion, I'd rather pull back than continue to push on. It may all be at the expense of a number but, if numbers are our game, then what's the point of good writing?

What works for you as a blogger? How often do you post and why?

As a reader, how often do you want to see me post on this blog? And, while we're at it, what do you want to see more of?

Please do share in the comments below.

You're Not Alone: Help With Connecting Globally

2012-02-27T12:49:00.010+11:00

Living abroad can be a lonely affair.

I've been fortunate to choose destinations where a distant family member or long-lost friend happen to live - and are close by when I first arrive. Others aren't so fortunate and, hurried overseas at the whim of their job and/or better half, are faced with the prospect of fitting in fast or looking forward to an uncertain future.

Back in 2010 (was it really that long ago?), I wrote about my own struggles with trying (and failing) to fit in. I've learned a lot about myself since then and the coping strategies and mechanisms at my disposal upon arriving somewhere new. One resource that often comes highly recommended is InterNations, an expatriates community for people living and working abroad.

I usually shudder at the thought of expat meet-ups, groups of lost souls reminiscing together about the motherland. However, InterNations is first and foremost an online community - you can join the regular meet-ups if you want, but you can also use it to connect with friends and business contacts online. Less pushy and more 'take us as you find us' - that'll always get my vote. And because you can only join by invitation, there's a higher level of personal trust where privacy is protected - again, all good with me.

Malte Zeeck, InterNations co-founder

Co-founder Malte Zeeck offered to talk about how his life story contributed to the creation of InterNations. Here he is on how it all began.

People often ask me how I came up with the idea for InterNations, the community for expatriates and global minds. The answer is simple: I love travelling, discovering new places and meeting people from other cultures. If you have the opportunity to see the world, to live and work in many different countries, this can be one of the most challenging but also the most rewarding experience in your life, and you should definitely make the most of it. And that’s exactly what InterNations is about: It helps the global citizens of today to connect, to exchange information, to stay in touch and organise meet-ups wherever they are in the world.

The idea for InterNations is directly linked to my own life story. Ever since spending a high school year in the United States, I’ve never looked back. I went on to study economy and film at universities in Switzerland, Italy and Brazil, and because my appetite for exploring the world still wasn’t satisfied, I worked as a flight attendant during my studies. After graduating, I ventured into the world of TV journalism, as it seemed like the perfect opportunity to combine my love for travelling and my passion for meeting people from different cultures. I worked for various TV stations shooting documentaries in countries such as India, Brazil and Spain.

During all this time spent travelling and working in different countries, I soon realised that it’s the people that matter most. I love meeting new people and introducing them to other people I know, but I also want these personal relationships to last through time and space, if you know what I mean. The fact that I might be living in Australia next year shouldn’t mean that I will never see or hear from my friends in Germany again. On the contrary, maybe they could even help me find my feet “down under” by introducing me to some of their friends or business contacts over there. This is how I believe globalisation should work, and this is how InterNations works. It’s a global community with a local approach.

We currently have more than 430,000 members in nearly 300 Local Communities worldwide and are thus the biggest global network for expatriates and “global minds”. What is more, we handpicked each of our 430,000 members to ensure that the contacts you make through InterNations are trustworthy and valuable. Our members include diplomats, journalists, managers of multinational companies, entrepreneurs, members of NGOs, and of course their partners and families. Together, these people make up a network that spans the whole world and can take you under its wing wherever you go.

The other factor that played into the idea for InterNations was the tedious Internet search that preceded every move abroad. It’s not only that you used to have to build up a new network of friends and contacts every time you moved to a different place, you also had to spend hours sifting through reams of information from various, often slightly dodgy sources on the Internet. This is all in the past now. When I, together with my co-founders Philipp von Plato and Christian Leifeld, thought up InterNations, we not only wanted it to be a network for expats, but also a valuable source of information.

So we came up with the plan to produce the Expat Magazine and our Country and City Guides. The former is a collection of articles on general topics revolving around the expat lifestyle. Its various categories, ranging from culture shock to working abroad, cover many aspects of expat life and help people deal with the challenges arising from such a nomadic life style. The Country and City Guides, as their name suggests, provide location-specific information. So if you know that your next expat assignment will take you to Sydney, you can search for that destination in our Guide section and read up on everything related to living in Sydney, which can be extremely useful for your preparations.

The Sydney InterNations Community

Our Local Community for expats in Sydney currently has around 3,500 members. It is coordinated by two volunteers, our local InterNations Ambassadors Axel from Germany and Marina from Russia. They organise one official InterNations event per month in various locations across the city. Our members use the events to network and to socialise. The events are a great opportunity for newcomers to make some contacts in the expat community because everyone there is usually very friendly, open and happy to meet new people.

The motto of InterNations events is “Nobody stands alone” - after all, we’ve all been in a similar situation before!

Thanks, Malte. If you're interested in joining the InterNations community, please leave a comment below and I'll gladly send you an invitation so you can start to connect globally with other like-minded souls wherever you are in the world. Alternatively connect with me on Twitter at @russellvjward.

Have you experienced organisations like InterNations and were your experiences positive? Are you aware of other similar resources out there?

Nasal Manoeuvres

2012-02-21T06:00:00.025+11:00

NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches

Moving abroad sends our senses of sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell into overdrive, and in this month’s NSEW offering, we explore an element of expat life through one or more of the five senses.

In Bottling the Essence of Beach Life, I (South) walk us through the multitude of sensory experiences found at the beach (more than you might think!). In Sound Check, Linda (North) finds that it is distinctive sounds that remind her where she is. In Tastes that Tell Our Stories, Erica (East) admits that she does, in fact, cry at Cheerios and roasted chicken. And here in Nasal Manoeuvres, Maria (West) knows that no-one knows France like her nose knows France.

Nasal Manoeuvres

By Maria Foley

Our theme for February — the five senses — offers a cornucopia of choice for the NSEW blogger. Should I write about what I see? I could easily manage a few hundred words on the wondrous sight of the sun rising over ripening vines in Bordeaux or glinting off the sails of the magnificent Sydney Opera House. Should I write about what I hear, and describe the crash of the surf at Manly Beach or the cacophony of Mandarin and English at a Singaporean wet market? Perhaps I should write about what I taste, and wax poetic about mee goreng or crème brulée (and somewhat less poetic about Vegemite.) I could always write about what I feel — the soft sand beneath my feet, the hot sun (or torrential rain) against my skin, that pesky rivulet of sweat coursing between my shoulder blades as I attempt my maiden drive on the left side of the road.

Tempting, all of it. But I’d rather write about cigarettes. French cigarettes, to be precise.

I moved to France at the tender age of 19: alone, excited, and scared out of my wits. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, thrust into a world I didn’t understand and lurching from one bizarre encounter to another. Eventually, the exaggerated peaks and valleys of culture shock abated, and in time I barely noticed the differences that had been so alarmingly apparent only months before.

The cycle continued when I moved back home. Things I had always taken for granted were thrown into sharp relief, and once again I felt disoriented and confused. A few days after I returned, still feeling the effects of jet lag, I opened my front door and was hit by an almost out-of-body experience: I could have sworn, just for a second, that I was back on the streets of Caen. It was such a visceral sensation that it came as a shock to realize I was not in the market on the rue de Bayeux, but in the front hall of the home I shared with my parents. The familiar sounds of the Saturday night hockey game coming from the TV in the living room were at odds with — what? I couldn’t put my finger on it until I sniffed the air, and then I knew. My house in suburban Toronto reeked of French cigarettes.

All became clear once I entered the living room and saw the duty-free pack of Gauloises on the table. At that time, courtesy of my parents, cigarette smoke was part of the fabric of our lives. (Literally: When I was little I once told my mom I liked our new white curtains better than the old yellow ones. Only there hadn’t been any recent home decor purchases, just a very thorough spring cleaning. If that’s what cigarette smoke does to polyester blends, I shudder to think what their lungs looked like.) The odour of my parents’ ciggies, however, was a pale imitation of the instantly-recognizable and much more exotic perfume emitted by French tobacco.

Gauloises and Gitanes had been the dominant brands in France since the Great War. Made from darker “brune” tobacco, they were strong, with a distinctive, powerful aroma. And in 1984, when I arrived in Normandy, they were everywhere: restaurants (a non-smoking section? Mais quelle idée!), bars, shops, offices — wherever people and their lungs gathered, I was enveloped in second-hand smoke.

These cigarette brands were national icons, firmly embedded in the French cultural consciousness. Back when nicotine was sexy and everyone inhaled, chain-smoking celebrities such as Serge Gainsbourg epitomized fumeur chic with Gauloises as their weapons of choice. Everyone from artists and intellectuals to fonctionnaires and street-cleaners had a little blue packet in their attaché case, pocket, or handbag.

More than two decades after my first stay in France, my family and I moved from Singapore to Bordeaux. Much had changed in the intervening years. I had long forgotten about Gauloises, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something — some integral part of the France I remembered — was missing. When it finally dawned on me that the ubiquitous plumes of smoke no longer gave off that distinctly French bouquet, I asked one of my friends why.

“Nobody smokes those anymore,” she told me. “They’re old-fashioned: too raw, too heavy.”

Tastes had changed. The brune cigarettes had a global market share of 80% in 1978. That figure had slipped to less than 20% by 2005, the last year Gitanes and Gauloises were produced in France. The smoke I smelled in Bordeaux came from lighter, low-tar brands of the American invasion.

I’m an inveterate non-smoker. I hate everything about smoking — hate it, in fact, with every single one of my five senses — but I can’t help feeling the tiniest twinge of regret that the winds of change have swept away those noxious clouds of a bygone era. The people of France are better off, but my nose will always know that a small part of my past has disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Is there an element of your own (expat) life that you can most relate to through a sight, smell, sound, taste or touch? Or maybe, like Maria, you also have fond memories of a particular sense and pine for a return to it?

Writing for Love and Money

2012-02-13T19:49:00.002+11:00

There was a fairly seismic shift in my world a week ago.

It only dawned on me in its full entirety once the dust had settled, but my personal landscape had changed - and arguably for the better.

I was paid to write - and paid well enough to do that writing. I was paid to do what I love - and paid to do it from a place of my choosing. I was paid as a professional by professionals - and it felt good.

"So what?" you say. "You were paid to write. Big deal." Well you see, it was a big deal - and for several reasons.

First of all, it was a pronounced tilt towards doing something I've long wanted to do in a less amateur way.

Writing has been a dominant force in my life since childhood. From coursework to career, time spent in the private sector and in government, scribbles jotted down as a precocious kid to lengthier pieces written in later life, writing has been my constant.

Photo credit: Ohmega1982 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Over the past year, followers of this blog will have noted a steadily increasing stream of articles and guest posts away from my regular home here on In Search of a Life Less Ordinary. Last week's achievement was, in some small part, the culmination of this effort, combined with a repackaging of my business and government experience.

I now feel half-way there. I'm writing professionally in a part-time capacity - and getting paid for it. It may eventually become full-time, be it for business, writing fiction, or in any other realm of the written word. For now, I'm happy to keep doing what I'm doing and hopefully keep doing it right. I set up this website late last year which outlines a little bit of what I've done and will continue to do - http://www.russellvjward.com/.

Last week's outcome was also significant for another reason.

Not only did I write professionally for a client but I was fairly paid to do it. The lack of any meaningful financial reward for fledgling and often established writers out there has been my personal bone of contention since I dived into the online blogging world in late 2010.

A friend and former BBC journalist recently remarked that if she had a dollar for every time someone asked her to write for free, she'd be very rich indeed. "Pay people their worth" was her view and it's a view I wholeheartedly share. Last week proved to me that it can, and should, happen.

I've lost count of the times I've been contacted by organisations seeking content for magazine articles, websites, expat columns, exciting new initiatives and so on and so forth, only to be told that "Unfortunately, we can't pay you; however, we can link to your blog!"

Such a wondrous offer that at first seems both appealing and laden with potential can all too suddenly seem less attractive and peppered with doubt. Will writing a monthly column lead to more prominent visibility in that particular community? Will I then become inundated with further writing opportunities that will pay handsomely and regularly? Will this be the start of that successful freelance writing career I'm so close to realising?

Of course not. The reality, harsh as it may be, is that this won't be the case.

There are vast numbers of organisations out there looking for varied, insightful content to build their sites and grow their communities. Unfortunately, most of them will want it for free (but not all!). Offers of 'profile building' in return for a guaranteed flow of your hard worked and time-constrained monthly content probably won't deliver the outcome you're looking for. I dare you to analyse just how many extra website page views and Twitter 'follows' you get as a result of churning out more than 1,000 words of content every month multiplied by however many requests - and all for free. I'm guessing it won't be many.

This may sound like an extremely pessimistic and simplistic lens through which I'm looking. Of course writers need to establish themselves, gain credibility, and prove their worth before seeking financial reward. On the flip side, there are hordes of bloggers-come-wannabe freelance writers putting pen to electronic paper and demanding something in return when these requests are neither justified nor deserved.

Photo credit: Flickr Creative Commons matryosha

My point is that established, credible writers should always be paid for their efforts. The mindset in certain quarters of the online world that such folks should write for free must change. At some point, you have to say "Enough is enough. I'm worth more than this" and start asking - no, demanding - your real worth and true value. You may lose people along the way but, hey, life's too short.

There are professional organisations that will pay for interesting and intelligently crafted words. Not the kind of words you might scribble down when dreaming about a possible short story or personal memoir but the kind of words that are born of concise, well-constructed, error-free writing that always hits the mark leaving the reader wanting to know more.

If you're a capable, skilled writer - and you know deep down if you are and if you can prove it - you need to be rewarded for the hard slog and commitment put into creating high quality copy. Profile building is never a fair exchange for the delivery of outstanding writing.

Last week marked a decisive step for me in the direction of independent, professional, paid writing. It proved that you can be fairly remunerated for the written word and, whilst I'm cognisant that the decision was based as much on my prior and current experience as my writing skill set, I still hold firm to the view that good writing should always be paid for.

Don't settle for less because, according to the people at L'Oreal, you're worth it.

Tell me what you've experienced and whether I'm being fair in my criticisms or far too naive? Are there good writers out there working for free? Are you happy to write for free for now?

The Land of the Three-Week Visit

2012-02-03T17:36:00.006+11:00

There's the Land of the Rising Sun, the Land of the Long White Cloud, the Land of the Giants, even the Land of the Free. But what about the Land of the Three-Week Visit?

I have a theory. Anyone who visits us here in Australia generally stays for three weeks, which got me wondering why that is.

We recently met up with friends of the family from 'way back'. They were here to spend Christmas in Sydney and Melbourne, and they were here for three weeks. This week we've been 'hanging out' with my wife's English relatives who are here for a little over three weeks. My own parents have visited Australia twice now. And, each time, for approximately three weeks.

In the land of perpetual sunshine and skimmed milk lattes to die for, it seems that three weeks is a timeframe of choice for holidaymakers and family members on a trip to the land down under.

Photo credit: Tim Beach / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Distance is obviously a determining factor for the Three-Week Visit.

After travelling to the other side of the world, you'd be a fool to only allow a week or two to vacation here (the infamous jet lag alone will take a week to recover from, then there's the necessary heat acclimatisation, followed by the required time for traversing some of this vast landmass).

The same applies in reverse. I wouldn't dream of jet setting 17,000km to the UK unless I'd planned a lengthy stay there. In other words, no less than three weeks.

Ensuring a decent amount of time with loved ones is therefore the other reason for the Three-Week Visit.

For those of us who live in Australia and for family and/or friends arriving in Australia, three weeks is a satisfying chunk of time to spend together. It's long enough, but not overly lengthy. It is ample time to re-connect and repulse (if needs must). It allows for places of interest to be visited, sightseeing boxes to be ticked, and lashings of sun to be soaked up. Three weeks also happens to be a good marker for experiencing every known emotion to man.

Week One goes something like this.

The overwhelming anticipation of seeing familiar faces after more than twelve months of separation reaches its emotional climax at the airport's arrival lounge. Sheer joy is accompanied by dire uncertainty and worry. Did they make the arduous journey in one piece? Will they be permanently scarred by the effects of 24 hours in transit? Is the house going to be clean enough? Did I mow the lawn to those high English standards? And please don't let a cockroach crawl across their cotton bedsheets in the night.

The first week passes smoothly enough, although opposing sides are on tenderhooks - some unwilling to verbalise what's really on their minds; others tiptoeing around each other minding their P's and Q's; each person trying to take it all in. Politeness is the order of the day.

Positive words abound, from the quality of cooking skills, to the choice of bathroom towels, and of course how wonderful the local environment is. All parties try to bond in record speed. Although it's really not unlike a room full of strangers, each carrying a bag full of secrets, with the carry handles about to break and spew forth the bag's contents.

Week Two takes a slight turn for the worse.

Familiarity takes hold as life confined under one small roof gets cozier. Old jokes are remembered and childhood memories are shared. Life seems to be getting back to the way it was before you had to go and upset the apple cart and leave the Motherland. But the emotional bubble that's been swelling since your guests' arrival is about to burst open with catastrophic results. Tensions simmer dangerously high and those pent-up frustrations, unresolved arguments, and off-hand remarks from the past year lived apart soon boil over in a series of stormy outbursts.

"This isn't your true home." "Your friends and family miss you." "When are you planning to return?" "And who's going to look after us in our old age?"

The accusations fly and the anger burns yet, as suddenly as it started, the drama is over. Opponents retreat to their respective corners. After all, the show must go on.

Week Three is less eventful but tinged with sadness.

Regret and remorse are rife as the reality of the situation sets in. This is the last week of the visit and we'll soon be back to living separate lives on separate continents. Thoughts turn to leaving and every moment in each other's company is a precious commodity to be jealously guarded.

The visitors consume themselves with thoughts of the mind-bogglingly boring journey home that awaits them. The thoughts of the 'visited' turn to cleaning the house, fumigating, burning off, de-cluttering, and getting back to the gym again.

Before long, tear-laden farewells will be said at the airport's departure lounge, a flurry of text messages will be exchanged before the plane leaves the gate, and acceptance will kick in that you won't see each other again for what could be a very long time. A quick cry on the drive home, wondering why and how you ever got yourself into this situation. Then the steely resolve returns. This is an adventure of course and the last things adventurers have are doubts. Emotions are buried deep and life goes on.

All this in a brief Three-Week Visit.

I sometimes wonder if it's all really worth it. Whether it wouldn't be easier to just do away with the Three-Week Visit, avoid the roller coaster ride of emotions, and save myself a lot of heartache in the process. But you and I know that's not going to happen.

Photo credit: dan / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The thing about living in Australia, in this sandy outpost in the middle of the Pacific, is that you can't help but feel the isolation set in as bags are packed and visitors say their goodbyes. There's always that nagging feeling of being left behind that comes with living so far away from the 'rest of the world'.

Fortunately, that same feeling of isolation has it's upside. A feeling that isolation in the current global climate has its pros, as well as its cons.

Have you experienced the Three-Week Visit? Did you watch the emotional bubble burst?

5 Ways to Change My Life in 2012

2012-01-25T14:58:00.006+11:00

This week marked the start of the 'Chinese' New Year - the Year of the Dragon no less - while Australia Day will take place on Thursday.

A Chinese tiger. In other words, moi.

Now I'm no water dragon (I'm a wood tiger according to those that know these things and confirm that I am courageous of heart). And I only recently took on Australian citizenship (but remain a dual national despite attempts by the powers-that-be to drain me of my blessed English roots). But with so much celebrating of national pride and the year ahead in this far flung corner of the world, what better time to reflect on my own outlook for 2012.

I'm not the greatest fan of New Year's Resolutions but I do believe in starting the year anew, clearing out unwanted habits from the past twelve months, and focusing on creating a fresh start and prosperous year to come.

Last week, on Expatria, Baby, I revealed one of the key things I'm planning to change this year as part of a series of NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches guest posts on expat 'new beginnings'. My resolution was to procrastinate less and finish more.

I soon realised there wasn't just one thing I wanted to change this year but a number. And not the bog standard resolutions: "I'm going to lose ten kilos" or "I will stop smoking"; but the less tangible, harder to measure goals that might bring about more meaningful changes to the way I lead my life in 2012.

With this in mind, here is my 'call to action' for the coming year. My 'manifesto for change', if you like. The 5 ways I plan to change my life in 2012:

1. Dream less and finish more. - As I wrote in Dare to Dream but Commit to Action, this year will be about dreaming less and doing more. I won't think I'm not ready, I'll stop aiming for perfection, I'll face those fears of making mistakes, stop following the path of least resistance, and banish idleness to the sidelines. This year, I’ll consider less and act on more. I'll live life more fully with realistic results. I'll dare to dream but commit to action.

Photo credit: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

2. Prove that positive thinking works. – Unfortunately, positivity and being British don't always go hand-in-hand. Sometimes it's easier to regard that cup as half empty when it really should be half full. Whilst that's no reason to start with the 'Whinging Pom' jokes, in 2012 I plan to focus on what I really want to happen. And in a positive way. Positive thinking is behind every good success story and starting each day with the thought that something good will happen in my life today, and paying close attention to see if it happens, will likely prove I'm right. Because I'm happy for the most part with this life by the beaches and I'm going to make damn sure I believe it. The cost of living may be high here but I'll focus on the plus side of Sydney living. I may not like every word or comment I come across in the Lucky Country, but it's not all bad. I promise.

3. Be more grateful for what I have. – No matter how much the day-to-day routine of life might try to wear us down, waking up each day thankful for what you have instead of thinking about what you don't have is the key. Being grateful for the way of life I lead in Sydney, being thankful for the family I'm creating around me, remembering to celebrate the good health and bright prospects we have here is something I plan to embrace regularly and wholeheartedly.

4. Appreciate the beauty of those smaller moments. – It's essential to enjoy the little things in life because, when I look back, those little things were actually the bigger things in my life. Those small moments I spend with loved ones that often pass me by all too quickly - holding hands with my wife as we walk along the beach, spending time with my dog by the water, enjoying the company of good friends on a warm summer's evening or going for a light work-out close to the sand - these are arguably the best portions of this life I've created and should be appreciated for what they truly are, not how insignificant they seemed at the time.

5. No longer settle for less. - Too many times I've tried to create happiness out of a particular situation that just doesn't stack up. That doesn't feel right. I'm not prepared to tolerate this any more. I'm going to stop acting as if everything is okay when it's not. It's not about being strong or proving I'm capable or a success when I'm not. It's about being honest and saying "Enough's enough. This isn't working. It's time to quit". The sooner I do, the sooner I'll be able to smile again. And smile honestly.

2012 is going to be about recalibrating this life. Moving forward with passion and purpose. Making improvements for the future, not just the here and now.

These are the ways I plan to change my life in 2012. This is my manifesto for change.

It's time to begin.

Do you have your own 'manifesto for change' for 2012? How do you intend to improve your life this year?

Expat Jeopardy: New Beginnings for 100

2012-01-19T06:00:00.039+11:00

NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches

With 2012 still fresh and new, this month's NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches examines beginnings from the four corners of the globe.

Here at In Search of a Life Less Ordinary, Linda of Adventures in Expat Land (North) explores the moment an expat's new life starts. As for yours truly usually found blogging here at In Search of a Life Less Ordinary (South), I'm dreaming big, and taking an even bigger bite out of 2012. Erica of Expatria, Baby (East) writes of her love beginnings. And Maria of I Was An Expat Wife (West) remembers the first time she felt at home in Singapore.

So, get comfortable, pour yourself a glass, and join us in saluting 2012. Many new and wonderful beginnings to all of you. Here's Linda's post.

Expat Jeopardy: New Beginnings for 100

By Linda Janssen

I'd like to change things up a bit, so today we're going to do things differently.

Think 'game show,' only without the cameras, fancy television stage or slick, velvety-voiced host.

If you'd like to think of me as velvety-voiced, I won't object. Although let's be clear: unlike Alex Trebek, I have no mustache. None whatsoever.

The game we'll be playing is a bit like the US game show Jeopardy, with a few alterations.

Photo credit: Master isolated images / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The rules are simple. We'll select a category, in this case, New Beginnings. Then I'll read you several potential answers.

Well, I really won't be reading them to you. You'll be doing the reading, but just pretend I'm announcing the responses to you in a game show host sort of voice.

After I've read you the list of possible answers, you will select the one that you believe best represents the moment when the average expat truly starts to feel that they are at a new beginning point in their life. You know, that point when you realize that you're Dorothy and you aren't in Kansas anymore.

Pay attention and read carefully because I'm going to give you lots of options. But remember, you can only pick one.

Here we go.

1. You first hear the language of your new country spoken by everyone around you, and realize that you can't understand a single word being said.

2. Your spouse/partner/significant other/Antonio Banderas/Angelina Jolie comes home and says 'Guess what? I've got this fantastic job offer, but it's in (fill in the blank)'.

3. You're hugging family and close friends, trying not to sob as you say your goodbyes.

4. You receive your residency card or visa, as applicable.

5. You can look around at most intersections in a four-block radius and realize that you could find your way home without resorting to a phone call to Antonio (or Angelina) or having to ask someone on the street for directions.

6. Sitting in a welcome session for recent arrivals at your children' new school.

7. You arrive at the airport or border and have to go through customs and immigration, and you realize that this time you're not a visitor.

8. You watch the contents of your home being packed up, loaded onto a container truck and driven away.

9. The first time your child turns and says to you 'I want to go home' and you realize that they are referring to your new country.

10. You are stopped for directions and realize that you understand three out of every five words being said to you and can point, pantomime and summon sufficient words to make yourself understood in response.

11. It's 2:00 am, your normally reliable teenager is well overdue for their curfew and you're not sure who to call.

12. The first time someone greets you with a welcoming voice and warm smile saying 'Hello, I'm so-and-so. You're new, aren't you? Let's grab a coffee and chat. There are some folks I'd like to introduce you to.'

13. You're served a new food or beverage about which you haven't a clue, it looks and/or smells strangely, and you're not entirely sure whether it's edible or even how to eat it.

14. In the taxi, car, van, small truck, bus, rickshaw, carriage, water taxi, sleigh, motorcycle or sea plane delivering you to your new front door.

15. You make your first embarrassingly public cultural faux pas and are concerned that you've sparked an international incident.

16. You arrive in country with high hopes and big dreams but no job or place to live, thinking 'now what??'

17. It's 11:30 pm and your youngest child has a raging fever, you haven't been in country long enough to have arranged for a doctor.

18. You understand your first joke in your new language (and are secretly relieved that you're not the butt of it).

19. You've been revived after fainting upon hearing the words 'Our next assignment is in (fill in the blank)'.

20. You return from vacation or a business trip and realize that this is home.

21. Your household goods shipment finally arrives in your new country.

22. Mr/Ms Right turns out to be Mr/Ms Wrong, leaving you on your own in the country you recently chose to move to together.

23. The first time you are invited into the home of a local resident.

24. You have your first (and hopefully only) encounter with local police.

25. The time difference is such that you can only find a one-hour window in which to call or Skype with friends and family 'back home' (and someone still has to get up early or stay up late to do so).

Okay, you've heard each of the contenders, so go ahead and select your answer. Keep your eyes on your own screen. No peaking at each others' choices.

While you're deciding on which answer to write down, I'll just stand over here and hum the Jeopardy one-minute countdown song.

All right then, let's get straight to the results. Which one will it be? Which of the selections above best typifies the light bulb moment when an expat thinks 'aha, this is the beginning of my new life'?

And the answer is...

Yes.

Okay, that's not exactly fair. The answer is actually 'all of the above'. Or 'none of the above'. Or 'other'.

There is no such thing as an 'average' expat any more than there is one occurrence that signifies a new beginning to everybody.

Some of us experience one defining moment, others will be reminded repeatedly by a series of events that a new life has begun. Still others will resist acknowledging any 'beginning' in their life change, instead living in a holding pattern and biding time until they can get back 'home'.

The truth is, new beginnings abound in expat life. You just have to be open to seeing them, and seeing them for what they are.

So which selection did you choose? What was your last light bulb moment when you realised this is the beginning of your new life?

An Interview with Jack Scott, Published Expat Writer

2012-01-10T09:08:00.010+11:00

I had the pleasure of meeting Jack Scott through In Search of a Life Less Ordinary and the wider expat community in 2011. Jack is a regular visitor to this blog and a faithful advocate of pursuing a less ordinary life.

Jack writes a successful blog which has quickly became one of the most popular English language blogs in Turkey. As the blog grew, Jack made the decision to develop the story of his expat life in Turkey into a memoir, Perking the Pansies, which was published just before Christmas.

Jack Scott, Published Writer

Perking the Pansies is an intriguing and often hilarious tale of a gay couple from London carving out an exciting and completely different life in Turkey. Jack's writing is a breath of fresh air, his vocabulary is delightful, and I wore a permanent grin on my face over Christmas as I read (on my newly acquired Kindle) how he describes, in his own inimitable way, the people he and Liam meet along the way. But it's not all smooth sailing for the fearsome duo as Jack reveals a number of less than happy moments during their time in Yalikavak then Bodrum, which simply add to the depth of the book and the interest of the overall journey.

Perking the Pansies is first and foremost a heart-warming account of a very human set of stories and I was fortunate enough to interview the author of this lovely - and currently bestselling - book as part of the current Perking the Pansies world tour...

So Jack, with a growing number of expat books being published, what makes Perking the Pansies a must-read for 2012?

Many expat books about Turkey (and elsewhere) are about building the dream in a foreign field set against a magnificent backdrop of history, culture and landscape. Many are beautifully written and deserve their place on the bookshelf while others are worthy but a little dull. I wanted to write something completely different. Perking the Pansies provides an alternative version of the expat experience from the perspective of a British gay couple in a Muslim land. It’s something no one has done before, and why would they? There aren’t many of us here.

Perking the Pansies is an often funny but always quite personal story of yours and Liam's unique journey. Were you at all concerned about putting your lives out there in such a public way through this book?

I have tried to lace the book with the same brand of satire and humour as my blog, but I also wanted depth, personality and a convincing plot. To do this, I think you must reveal something of yourself and that’s why I’ve included aspects of our lives which I’ve never written about before. I’m a bit of an open book anyway, so writing about my life and feelings, past and present, isn’t difficult for me (or for Liam).

As two openly gay men, the book follows your 'escape from the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country' and this was surely no small decision to make. Just how difficult a decision was it and do you think other potential expats can learn something from your decision and subsequent journey?

We really wanted to take time out from the world of the waged, so we had to move somewhere affordable; living in a cardboard box wasn’t our idea of fun. I’d like to say that we moved to Turkey because it’s a land of swarthy men, a place where sexual ambivalence reigns supreme and stolen glances meet you at every corner. The truth is more prosaic. We had to settle somewhere within easy commute of Blighty for trips home to see our folks. The Eurozone was off the agenda because the Pound to Euro exchange rate conspired against us. That meant the usual nations of choice for sun-starved Brits – Spain, Portugal and Greece – were out. Quite simply, we get more bang for our bucks in Turkey. Also, we’d been dipping our toes this side of the Aegean for years and knew the amazing country quite well. With the current crisis in the Eurozone, I think we (quite accidentally) made a wise choice.

The biggest lesson we’ve learned is that the neither the journey nor the destination is the be all and end all. It’s what you do afterwards that really counts. The real challenge to able-bodied emigreys (as I call retired expats) is to find a gainful occupation that doesn’t involve propping up the bar in a sad, insular expat dive to Blighty-bash and complain ad nauseum of all things local. That’s why I started the blog.

Perking the Pansies, the book

You cover a lot of ground in the book and recount in some detail the many characters you've met and conversations you've had along the way. How did you go about recording and remembering so many different encounters?

The blog has helped with much of the subject matter and narrative. Many of the events were so extraordinary that they’ll be etched into my memory for a very, very long time. Suburban life in London was never this eventful. Our first year in Turkey was like living in Midsomer without the murders. And then came the horrible murder. All events in the book are based on what actually happened, but some of the characters and their characteristics have been merged or altered to protect the privacy of the innocent and the guilty. I have also tweaked the timeline a little for the purposes of dramatic tension and narrative clarity.

And where to next for Jack Scott, Published Writer? Will we see Jack and Liam remain in Bodrum or head off on a new leg of the Perking the Pansies adventure?

Turkey is a magical land. The people are warm, welcoming and hospitable. Whether you are a culture-vulture needing a fix, a beach bum wanting rest and relaxation, an adventurer seeking an adrenalin rush or a rambler who gets off on meandering through magnificent countryside, Turkey has it all. We’re lucky enough to live here while we’re young enough to savour it and we’re very happy to stay in Turkey for now. Much depends on how happy we remain here, whether the book sells and where that might lead. I’m hopeful of a sequel and a prequel but this may just be wishful thinking. The chances are, we’ll head back to Blighty for our dotage. Home, as they say, is where the heart is – and where the health care is free.

Perking the Pansies is available to buy in paperback or on Kindle from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com. If you order through Jack's website, http://www.jackscott.info/, he makes a few extra pennies from it. No pressure.

The Best of In Search of a Life Less Ordinary 2011

2012-01-03T16:04:00.008+11:00

In the time honoured tradition of looking back at the highlights of the year that was, I thought I'd round out the year with a look back at the best of In Search of a Life Less Ordinary for 2011.

Photo credit: Idea go / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

A year of extremes

It was an extreme year in Australia - from extraordinarily high temperatures in January and February to an unusually wet and windy start to the current summer in December. When Australia was hit with insanely hot summer temps early on in the year, I asked just How hot is too hot?

Not long after, appalling bush fires, mass flooding and wild cyclones ravaged areas of Queensland and Western Australia as I put pen to paper for the UK Telegraph for the first time in 2011 with First floods, then cyclones, now bushfires: what next for Australia?

The year also showed us extreme attitudes and behaviour when London lost the plot and the UK rioted from north to south. Having lived in a number of cities that had experienced riots such as these, I found myself making comparisons as I watched My London burning.

An extreme issue of a different kind was the rising cost of living in Sydney. Living in the lucky country doesn't come cheap looked at the true cost of life in the harbour city and the emerging phenomenon of the ping pong Pom.

Understanding the locals

It was also a year for getting to know my neighbours, the friendly 'locals', and understanding - and accepting - how things work here in the land down under. Of course, it wasn't ever going to be easy trying to fit in.

In Winter, what winter?, I asked whether Australians believe winter exists in this fair land and, if so, why am I the only one who seems aware of the ever-present cold and dark at this time of year. Not long after, in What happened to Halloween?, I made that most serious of claims: is it me or is Halloween non-existent in Australia?

More contentiously, I posted on my occasional experiences of racist behaviour in Australia in No place for ugly attitudes in Australia and this continues to be one of my most read and commented-on blog posts on ISOALLO.

You also learned about my love of the coffee culture in Sydney and my surprise at just how good the black liquid gold really is when I guest posted for Why Go Australia in Coffee's up in Sydney! And I got to grips with local tipping practices, which have always bemused me wherever I've called home, when I deciphered the local customs for the Expat Explorer blog in To tip or not to tip?

Learning about myself

2011 was also a defining point in my expat life. I reached the '8 years away from the UK' threshold and I started to better understand my sense of living a more permanent life overseas.

I explored issues of separation guilt and emotional anxiety at being such a long distance away from loved ones in Facing my fears, whilst in When the going gets tough, should I get going? I considered the type of expat I am (if I still am one) and whether it was time to move on as a result of issues causing me concern.

Me, myself and I - living with my nationalities was about my decision to become an Australian citizen and dealing with those initial feelings of guilt in taking on the nationality of my new home, whilst in Defining home I tried to tease out the true definition of 'home' for an expat. In the end, I decided that home is where a person feels happiest and, as with love itself, when you find the one that is right for you, you'll know where your home is too.

Photo credit: Sura Nualpradid / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I learned a lot about the language I've developed along this journey from the UK to Canada and on to Australia in Lessons in language when I realised I'm now speaking a mix of languages, thinking and speaking with a hodge-podge of words and phrases from my current and previous homes. I also learned that most of the personal stuff I brought with me to Australia is exactly that, Just stuff, even if I do cherish that record collection which will always come along for the ride...

I eventually came to the conclusion that life by the beach isn't all that bad in Life's a beach - what is there to complain about when a typical morning is spent watching humpback whales breach and pods of dolphins swim by?

Looking back, moving forward

2011 was a year of opportunity in which I wrote regularly for the Telegraph's Expat section, filmed my search for this new life on a major US television show, helped launch our monthly NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches initiative with three very talented expat writers from the far flung corners of the globe (who could forget my naked sauna?), and was fortunate enough to be able to bring more of my life here in Australia to you in your own home, wherever that may be.

2012 hopefully holds more of the same in store for In Search of a Life Less Ordinary. You will see a few changes in the blog's direction over the coming months and our search for a different life will perhaps take on its own change of course in 2012 (for the better, I'm sure).

We like-minded expats/nomads/travellers/adventurers/restless souls often like to quote the great Mark Twain when he once said:

"Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do, than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

Join me as I do.

Have a fantastic 2012.

Living in the Lucky Country Doesn't Come Cheap

2011-12-20T11:45:00.002+11:00

I recently wrote for the UK Telegraph on the rising cost of expat life in the land down under. This is a contentious issue and one which is stirring up opinion on both sides of the fence - those who agree and those who emphatically do not.

I've posted the article below and encourage you to join in the discussion at the end and share your own views on this polarising subject.

Only a few days ago, I went to the local supermarket searching out some chilli peppers for the week ahead. At nearly 43 Australian dollars per kilo (£28), I chose to walk out empty-handed as, once again, prices in the food shops were spiralling out of control. A week before, banana prices had been rocketing.

Photo credit: martinhoward

This capped off a week in which it cost me more than $90 to fill my car (up from $60 several months ago), over $25 to buy a reasonable bottle of red wine (up from $15 not long ago), about $350 to pay an extraordinarily high electricity bill for the last quarter, and a little under $6,000 to pay an excessive monthly mortgage payment on a fairly regular size house.

All of the basic commodities – bread, fruit, milk – are more expensive than I can previously remember, the cost of petrol has risen, house prices continue to climb, and the only saving grace is that interest rates seem to be dropping whilst salaries remain high, even if I feel constantly penniless and barely scraping by.

Perhaps I’m just whinging, as all British expats here allegedly do, but expat life in Sydney has grown far less affordable over the past five years, which make it far more appealing to be some place else.

We’re often told that Europe is sinking in a quagmire of recession and economic turmoil, whilst Australians enjoy the benefits of a booming recession-free economy combined with a superior quality of life lived under a perpetual sun and in the great outdoors. Thousands of Brits continue to make their way to Australia and Sydney each year safe in this knowledge, and there is no shortage in the number of surveys and reports touting Sydney’s obvious desirability.

The Mercer 2011 Quality of Living Survey, for example, which compares 221 cities based on 39 criteria, ranked Sydney as the 11th most liveable city in the world, whilst the Economist Intelligence Unit’s Global Liveability Report rated Sydney as the sixth most liveable city in the world. This contrasts starkly with another recent survey in The Guardian which named the UK as having the worst quality of life in Europe.

It’s therefore no great surprise that Brits continue to flock to Sydney in large numbers, but what I’m curious to know is whether the true financial cost of living a new life in the land down under is understood by these new immigrants and whether economics, rather than emotional reasons, might eventually drive them back home.

A spate of media commentary in recent weeks has focused on those Brits leaving Australia and returning to the homeland. Even the Mayor of London, addressing a lunch gathering of Australian business executives, mentioned the ping-pong Poms who are turning their backs on Australia because, despite the endless sunshine and chance to live by the coast, life is generally dull, they miss friends and family, lack any real sense of belonging, would prefer a less macho culture, and want more of the history commonly found in Europe.

Photo credit: Robert van Dijk

What the commentary doesn’t focus on is the exorbitant cost of living in Australia, particularly in Sydney, compared to prices in Britain, which immigration analysts suggest is the likely factor fuelling the trend for expats to return home.

So what are the options for expats like myself, struggling with the high cost of life in the sun but reluctant to give up this improved way of living for purely financial reasons? Do I move to another Australian city where the prices might be cheaper but the quality of life might also be less? Perhaps return to the Old Dart where the cost of living might be reduced but where I might give up so much more in the process? Or remain in Sydney where I can live close to the beach but pay dearly for it in the long run?

After almost nine years away, I still experience a profound pull back to the UK, to be near my family and friends, to witness the distinct change in seasons, enjoy polite conversation, green fields, and of course the quality TV. I suppose I could always head back for a short while, keeping my Australian citizenship as a back-up, leaving me free to return one day if, and when, the sky-high living costs subside.

Yet, in a recent interview with the BBC News Magazine, the radio DJ and ping-pong Pom himself, Jono Coleman, summed it up best for me. He posed the question that when you’re broke, hard up and cash strapped, where would you rather be? Sitting in a park in the rain in London or in a park in a sunny Sydney looking out at the ocean?

Although financially tougher, the latter option still seems infinitely better to me.

This article originally appeared in the Telegraph's Finance section on 8 December 2011 - http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/personalfinance/offshorefinance/8942489/The-true-cost-of-expat-living-in-Australia.html

Are you a Sydneysider experiencing the rising cost of living? Do you live elsewhere in the wider world and are encountering similar issues? Or are you in the UK and very glad to be there right now?

No Bubble Wrap, Thank You

2011-12-15T06:00:00.049+11:00

NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches

It's fast approaching the end of the year which means we have time for just one more Expat Dispatches for 2011. As always, your faithful expat dispatchers from the four corners of the globe are:

North: Linda in The Netherlands (http://www.adventuresinexpatland.com/)
South: Russell in Australia (http://www.insearchofalifelessordinary.com/)
East: Erica in Japan (http://www.expatriababy.com/)
West: Maria in Canada (http://www.iwasanexpatwife.com/)

The December edition of NorthSouthEastWest is something very dear to our hearts. It’s that thing or things that drive us crazy as expats. This month’s theme is therefore an open invitation to have a good ole fashioned rant and is called It’s driving me round the bend!

Here at In Search of a Life Less Ordinary, Erica shares her love (or absolute lack of) for packaging in Japan.

At Adventures in Expat Land, I’m wondering why it’s always so flamin’ hard to get any sleep round here;

At I Was an Expat Wife, Linda examines the discomfort of discomfort;

And at Expatria, Baby, Maria is breathing a sigh of relief to be free of the Expat Hierarchy.

So sit back, enjoy these four no-holds-barred posts, and have a wonderful festive season wherever in the world you and yours may be!

Photo credit: Naypong / FreeDigitialPhotos.net

I'm slightly nervous about this month's theme. You see, the list of things that drive me ‘round the bend' is long. Very long. I could write a tome entitled, "All Of The Things About Japan That Make Me Totally Bonkers And Also A Bit Stabby." It would meander from the trivial (tiny, sockless baby feet, naked to the winter elements) to the inane (dogs dressed up as elves, or bumble bees, or ballerinas or tiny Von Trap singers being pushed around the park in canine sized strollers) to the annoying (an impenetrable address system that renders me hopelessly and utterly lost about 75 percent of the time), to the serious (a cultural tradition of sexism so entrenched that married women with children have almost no hope of any sort of meaningful career).

But to write such an opus would certainly not be prudent. It would not win me any friends, nor the respect of my blogging comrades and would only serve to kindle my righteous indignation. And I’m really trying to be less righteous . And less indignant. After all, not everything is so doomy.

And so, in the spirit of this season of wrapping paper, presents, and parcels, I give you..da da da da!...PACKAGING!!!! And why it drives me batty.

You see, I was raised with a healthy fear of overflowing landfills and human provoked environmental ruin. As a child, my mother sent me off to school with sandwiches packed in repurposed milk bags and leftovers scooped into old yoghurt containers. Reuse. Reduce. Recycle. As I've moved across the globe, I’ve carried this mantra with me. I may occasionally leave the lights on in the hallway, and take a shower that's a little too hot and a little too long, but I'll always bring my reusable shopping bag to the grocery store.

And so I did, the first time I went grocery shopping in Japan. I passed my shopping bags over to the cashier while I nervously fumbled with my wallet full of unfamiliar currency (so many zeros!!) When I returned home with my provisions, I was vexed to discover that my jars of jam, containers of soy sauce, and bottles of beer were carefully swaddled up in bubble wrap. The French cheese, for which I had combed the city (and paid a small fortune), was bundled first in a layer of saran wrap and them vacuum packed in thick plastic so that it sweated and slimed all it's delicious Frenchness away. My steaks were wrapped in polystyrene trays, then sealed with plastic wrap. A duo of ice packs was added before the whole package was encased in a final layer of plastic. Apples were wrapped individually in Styrofoam mesh lest that they suffer the indecency of a slight bruise. I unpacked my groceries and huffed around, cursing the pointless waste.

Later, as I explored the city on a rainy day, I saw shoppers carefully slide their umbrellas into plastic bags provided at store entrances. And paper bags filled with newly acquired treasures were shrouded in plastic. A disposable raincoat kept the shopping bag, the outer packaging announcing status and luxury, pristinely drip-free. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

It's not just inanimate objects that are packaged just so. People, too, sport a uniform of perfection. Men in perfect dark suits and perfect blue ties. Hipsters clad in perfectly mis-matched patterns and perfectly oversized glasses. Ladies perfectly quaffed with high heals and fake lashes, perfectly attired for a quick trip to the grocery store. And then there’s me, always slightly disheveled and marked with the invariable smear of baby goo. My hair willfully escapes the constricts of it's hair tie, and my eye makeup is slightly smudged. I carry a hit of hint of vagabondery. And in Japan, I am a sore thumb.

And so, it is like this that I show up at the grocery store. Standing in line behind a perfectly manicured woman who pulls out a designer wallet from her designer bag and completes her transaction elegantly and without incident. I follow, rooting through my purse (with its requisite splotch of unknown provenance on the front) to extract my reusable bags. I stretch to hold onto my daughter with one hand at the same time as I try to mime "no bubble wrap" and "hold the ice packs". I decline the prestigious shopping bags emblazoned with fancy grocery store branding and hand over my rumpled eco-bags while I shrink from side-eyes from the my fellow shoppers, real or imagined.

You see, this is just who I am: a slightly disheveled, semi-tree hugging, rebellious, and perpetually disorganized eschewer of convention. And in this way, I'll always be annoyed by the excessive packaging in Japan, just as the Japanese will always be annoyed at my inability to package myself appropriately. Still, with a Christmas gift exchange to shop for this week, you can bet that I’ll be asking for a gift box. And wrapping. And throw on a little plastic shopping bag raincoat to keep everything looking good, arigato gozaimasu.

Tis the season for sharing so why not tell us some of your own gripes, irritations and downright annoyances from life lived abroad. Don't be shy. Let it all out.

No Place for Ugly Attitudes In Australia

2011-12-07T11:51:00.012+11:00

I read something shortly after returning from my trip along the New South Wales coast that got me thinking about the first time I visited a dentist in Sydney.

I was laid out horizontally waiting for the man himself to get to work on my pearly whites. I don't mind going to the dentist's - as a rule of thumb, he/she is usually the chatty sort, makes me feel comfortable, and I'm not particularly averse to the fact they'll shortly be rummaging around in my mouth looking for any signs of badly behaving teeth.

As the dentist leaned over to begin his business, he asked me if I was house hunting yet and, if so, how it was going.

"Pretty good," I replied. "We're looking at a few options but we're thinking the North Shore might be a good place to call home."

"You should look at houses in the west of Sydney," he said. "Lots of big, grand houses out near Penrith way. Built for wogs. Depends if you like your woggy houses. Lots of concrete and ornate metal railings. Not my thing but some people love those woggy places."

I was floored. Did I hear him right? Did he just say what I thought he said? If so, should I have said anything back? Reprimanded him for blatantly saying something so racist and unprofessional?

In the end, I smiled awkwardly and said nothing, unsure of the territory I was in and concerned that I might be in danger of over-reacting (or under-reacting). With the conversation grinding to a halt, he got on with my check-up.

Photo credit: Jiaren Lau

The visit to this dentist took place not long after I arrived in Australia, more than five years ago. I soon found out that a 'wog' in fact was a person of Greek or Italian descent, not quite the definition it was given back in the UK. That said, it wasn't used in a positive way so I remained slightly troubled by what I'd heard.

It wasn't the only such occurrence over the years but, more often than not, I put these incidents down to the Aussie sense of humour or credited it to the way things were done and said here.

'Wogs' and 'Lebbos' (those of Lebanese descent) were the obvious terms I would regularly hear. I witnessed various jokes about the 'Abos' (Aborigines) and increasingly came across negative comments about people from other cities and countries (us Brits top of the list of course, closely followed by the Yanks, the Kiwis,and so on). This was heard from a relatively small percentage of the people I came across so, in those early weeks and months, I realised I should probably 'put up' and 'shut up' if I wanted to fit in.

It was therefore no real surprise when I read Lauren Fritsky's article in the UK Telegraph a few days ago, Seeing in black and white in Australia, highlighting her unease and often embarrassment at hearing what she perceived as racial 'icebreakers' in public. She notes her struggles with the apparent lack of political correctness in Australia and the ease with which some of these terms are used by the local population.

What I realised, when I read Lauren's article, is that I've got far too used to these casual, throw-away remarks when they do occur. In fact, I often brush them off as unintentional slurs or said without bad feeling. I mean, what's wrong with giving the Kiwis and Yanks a bit of stick? And the Poms have been ridiculed for years much as the Lebos and Westies have been.

The problem is that, although most of these words are as much a part of the light-hearted Aussie vernacular as the 'barbie' or the 'ute', they sometimes come very close to crossing the line and often, as Lauren reminds us with reference to the use of 'Chocko' or Abo', they do.

Photo credit: maHidoodi

It's important to understand the psyche here, the fact that the culture is based on the premise that "anything goes" and "anyone is fair game". From the camaraderie at the bar to the casual BBQ setting, the light-hearted work environment to the jovial yet die hard sports rivalries, all combine to create a “no worries, mate” attitude, inspired by a society that goes with the flow without giving a damn what you might think of them.

Yet sometimes, just sometimes, I get tiny flashbacks to my former university days spent in the heart of the multicultural British Midlands where racist taunts and cultural insensitivities were often the norm rather than the exception.

I previously posted on my experiences in Canada and Australia, and how the two countries are separated by more than just water. My view was that Australia preaches tolerance, where as Canada believes in accepting a person, wherever they're from or whoever and whatever they are. The question is whether this basic attitude of tolerance in Australia is good enough to carry forward in the modern many-cultured world.

There's quite simply no place in this beautiful land for ugly attitudes and ignorant opinions. I only hope that the odd experience or encounter I've had along the way isn't held by the many but by the few.

What are your views? What have been your experiences here, either as an Australian or as a visitor to the land down under?

Fingal Bay Fun

2011-12-02T12:40:00.003+11:00

We're currently holidaying along the beautiful eastern coastline of Australia, not three hours north of Sydney in an area called Port Stephens so I wanted to share some photos of the neighbourhood with you.

The peninsula is home to a number of pristine bays that circle around Port Stephens from Nelson Bay through to Anna Bay. We're vacationing with Milo in the Shoal Bay and Fingal Bay areas, which are two stunning examples of the Australian coastline with long deserted beaches backed by high rising sand dunes and turquoise blue waters lapping at the shore.

We plan to snorkel around the reefs, swim with Milo at his own 'dog beach', watch the dolphins play in the ocean, and get stuck into some of the local cuisine.

Back in a week's time...

Fingal Bay, Port Stephens

More Fingal Bay, New South Wales

A stormy looking Shoal Bay, Port Stephens

Pristine bays, turquoise blue waters


Milo surveying the scene

Driftwood

Some local Fingal Bay fun!

Sydney Vacations

Lessons in Language

2011-11-25T18:25:00.006+11:00

Our English language is funny - a fat chance and slim chance are the same thing. ~J. Gustav White.

The English language is even funnier when you've forgotten how to speak it.

I was in a meeting at work this week (not a very interesting one at that). At this meeting, we were talking 'data'. Now I'm no technical genius and at school I was admittedly bad at maths, but somehow I've been roped into a fairly significant data-based project. So I'm in a meeting listening to non-stop talk about data and not understanding very much in the process.

I opened my mouth to contribute to the discussion and remembered I'd forgotten how to say the word 'data'. It may sound stupid but it's been a recurring issue for me lately. Is it day-ta or is it dar-ta? Somehow, somewhere, I've lost the ability to pronounce this ridiculously simple word.

I found myself having numerous conversations in my head over the past few weeks, questioning whether day-ta is the Australian English pronunciation and dar-ta the British English. I thought I'd worked it out.

Day-ta is so obviously Australian. It sounds kind of American (think the 1983 movie, War Games) and my Aussie compatriots do like to embrace the American language. It follows that dar-ta is the true-blue British way of pronouncing the word. So when my Australian colleague then asked me how my dar-ta project was coming along, my theory was blown right out of the water.

Photo credit: woodleywonderworks

This expat's use of the English language is proving more challenging and confused the longer I live abroad.

Aside from the ominous changes to my accent (an Aussie lilt is starting to become a regular feature), I'm acquiring a strange new vocabulary containing a selection of words from the Canadian and Australian dictionaries sprinkled in amongst my own British lexicon. It's almost as if I'm creating a distinct pidgin English language over here - and one that only I seem able to understand.

I can only assume that this sort of thing happens to anyone who spends long periods of time away from the homeland. A strange pronunciation here, a uniquely foreign word there. A mongrel of a language as a result.

I now think and speak with an unusual mix of words and phrases. Alien terminology invades my repertoire and I'll sit up wondering where exactly that phrase or saying came from. Aussie friends at a bar might wonder why I've told them I'm heading off to the 'washroom' and it's not unusual to see an English relative wondering what on earth a 'boofhead' is.

There's probably only one cure for this language inadequacy mine. I'll need to book in a quick trip to the Motherland to sort things out and fix things up. Five minutes with a couple of pals in the Old Dart will have me back to my former ways speaking the language of my forefathers with relative ease and in that most beautiful of dialects, the Basingstoke drawl.

Until I return, you'll find me in a corner, perplexed as always, asking that most important question of questions: is it pah-sta or par-sta? I honestly no longer know.

Do tell me about your own language inadequacies. Any unusual foreign words creeping into daily conversations with the 'locals'?

Have Passport, Will Travel

2011-11-18T06:00:00.017+11:00

NorthSouthEastWest: Expat Dispatches

It's the middle of November so you know what that means: it's time for our monthly virtual four-way blogfest. We are:

North: Linda in The Netherlands (http://www.adventuresinexpatland.com/)
South: Russell in Australia (http://www.insearchofalifelessordinary.com/)
East: Erica in Japan (http://www.expatriababy.com/)
West: Maria in Canada (http://www.iwasanexpatwife.com/)

This month's theme? What is the one item each of us can't imagine living expat life without.

So have a seat, get comfortable and come around the world with us as we explore four different items from four different perspectives:

Here at In Search of a Life Less Ordinary, Maria shares what matters most to her;

At Adventures in Expat Land, Erica demonstrates why paper beats rock and scissors every time;

At I Was an Expat Wife, I ponder whether it's possible to be too attached to my chosen item;

And at Expatria, Baby, Linda's all for throwing off the bowlines.

Without further ado, here's Maria's post, Have Passport, Will Travel...

I’m madly in love with my passport. It’s a very attractive navy blue, with a very unattractive photo of me on the first page. But what a treasure trove of memories lies within its covers: stamps and visas to wonderful places that I never thought I’d be lucky enough to visit. The few remaining blank pages — which seem so naked and vulnerable next to their more robust neighbours — are calling out to me, each one bursting with possibility.

Photo credit: iStockphoto.com/kislev

Becoming an expatriate means figuring out how to turn a foreign country into a home. Of course we spend a great deal of time in our host country, deciphering the unspoken rules of behaviour, struggling to master the language, and generally going about the business of building a life. But one of the biggest perks of expat life is discovering a hitherto unknown corner of the world — just begging to be explored — right outside your new front door.

When I lived in Singapore, I couldn’t wait to dive into Asia. In the beginning, we didn’t stray too far from home: a weekend in Bintan, a drive across the Causeway to Malaysia. It only whetted our appetite. We started to venture further afield: Bangkok, Phuket, Bali. Then Hanoi, Saigon, Sydney, Beijing.We became travel junkies, constantly searching for our next fix.

Moving to France put the glories of Budapest, London, Istanbul and Barcelona right at my fingertips. With each stamp I collected in my passport, I also collected experiences that would thrill, awe, and change me forever.

The stamps themselves are utilitarian in appearance, clearly designed to expedite, not delight the senses. Yet somehow my pages became the canvas for a dizzying collage of colour and shape. Each stamp is just different enough to let a little sliver of personality shine through. The hues vary from sombre black to delicate lavender. A bright green Indonesian stamp shares space with a cobalt blue beauty from Chiang Mai. The Chinese stamp is so aggressive in its red fluorescence that it makes my eyes hurt.

Shapes, too, differ. The Australian entry stamp is elegantly rectangular in shape, while the exit stamp is round with curved text. The triangular exit stamp from Thailand sits atop its squarish counterpart, forming a tidy little house. The stamps from the EU are disappointingly similar: minimalistic boxes featuring a line drawing of an airplane (First the Euro took away the fun of shopping with exotic currencies such as the lira and franc; now half the pages in my passport exhibit a mind-numbing sameness). And here’s a delicious taste of irony for you: the American stamp has no borders.

The humble stamp pales in comparison to its flashier cousin: the visa. Visas are passport rocks stars. The English and Chinese characters of the staid Chinese visa are printed in a muted green ink. There is a faint watermark of the Great Wall in the middle, which elevates it from merely an official document to a cultural work of art. The Vietnamese visa is vaguely intimidating, the Indonesian one is disappointing in its absence of Bahasa, and the Turkish one looks like a groovy watercolour painting.

Mingling with the joy in these pages is regret for the stamps that aren’t there: the family vacation in India and the house-building trip to Cambodia that never materialized because our time in Asia ran out before we could make them happen. A weekend jaunt to Venice was likewise abandoned when we left France to return to our home in Canada.

There is sadness here, too: my Singaporean Dependant’s Pass has been cruelly defaced by the single word — CANCELLED — stamped across it.

Last weekend, my daughters and I drove to Niagara Falls and across the border into the United States. Our old passports expired a couple of years ago, and we had our new passports with us, pristine and unsullied by the familiar tangle of stamps we’d grown to love. These passports aren’t dog-eared and worn around the edges from years of handling; their pages aren’t smudged and scribbled on by immigration officers in dozens of countries. It pains me to say that they have no visas between their shiny new covers.

The photo, however, is still unattractive.

I couldn’t imagine living expat life without my beloved passport. But I’m not an expat anymore. My scuffed and tattered former passport sits like a relic in a drawer, its corners roughly clipped (If you’d like to draw an analogy involving birds’ wings at this point, knock yourself out. I don’t have the heart to do it myself).

This new passport is like a stranger to me, but there’s one thing that hasn’t changed from my old expat life: the empty pages are calling to me with their siren song. I think it’s high time I did something about it.

Is there anything you can't imagine living expat life without? Like Maria, is your passport more than just a document to get you from A to B? Share your comments below.

Life's a Beach

2011-11-10T16:42:00.009+11:00

I had a 'need to pinch myself' moment this week.

I'd finished a training session on one of the local beaches, Bilgola, and sat recovering on the sand. Gazing out at the ocean, taking in the views, I spied a pod of humpback whales playing in the water not 500 metres from where I sat.

At first I could only see the tell-tale plumes of spray blowing skywards from the top of the humpbacks. Then, as the pod swam closer, the distinctive tail flukes appeared as these majestic creatures flipped entirely out of the water, twisted in midair, and landed loudly on their sides. It was breathtaking to witness.

Watching those gentle giants roll around in their ocean playground, less than a kilometre from my spot on the sand, I was reminded that very few people in the world get to appreciate anything close to this natural beauty on any given day. It was a revelatory moment that reinforced my reasons for living here.

Whether it be admiring the humpback whales, watching lightening storms roll in from the east or sharing great food and drink at a beach BBQ, the variety and quality of life by the ocean is something I would struggle to ever give up. On paper, my daily routine is quite ordinary. I walk my dog, go to work, train with friends in the early evening, watch a little TV. Yet when you peel back the surface layers, my life has fundamentally changed underneath.

Photo credit: Nina Matthews Photography

I no longer try to avoid the daily walks with my dog, previously reduced to dragging him around the block, hurrying home before it got dark, with cold hands buried deep in coat pockets.

Spending time with my Milo has become one of life's great pleasures and our trips to the dog-friendly lagoons and strolls together through the undulating sand dunes have become the highlights of my week. At the weekend, we swim together in the mild inlets near Bayview, him chasing the tennis ball I'm pulling along beside me as I strike out into deeper water. Milo was born to this life of ocean adventure and I indulge him whenever I can.

A few months ago, I quit the gym. I literally said "no more". I didn't move to the other side of the world, and to a home by the ocean, to spend weekends locked away in a sweaty, claustrophobic box with large numbers of other tortured souls. I've lived my free time in the gym since I was 18 so my decision to quit was both bold and a touch unnerving.

Upon leaving, I felt a huge sense of relief at turning my back on what had been such a large part of my life, but which could be no more. I turned to the beach for my salvation and began to train in the soft sand, on the stairs, through the surrounding parkland, and practice drills in the beach pools (a personal favourite of mine).

I've never felt more invigorated with my training and in tune with the environment. Feeling the sand between my toes and the sea breeze in my hair, I feel in my element. Working-out has become fun again and I count down the days until my training buddies and I next meet.

During the day, I work in an office like any other, but increasingly I work from home allowing me time for a relaxing walk at lunch and the ability to work on my deck with the laptop, whilst others stress out in the close confines of a shared office.

Photo credit: StephEvaPhoto

In this life, work has suddenly become the smaller part of a bigger picture. Where my career was once my everything, home life and my family have become my passion. The well-known saying that you should 'work to live rather than live to work' has never been truer and more meaningful than at this stage of my life.

And when I drive home from work at the end of my day, I glimpse the ocean on the horizon and feel all my worries and stresses drift away. The sight of that wide, blue expanse of water never fails to excite and inspire. The possibilities always seem endless.

I'm lucky and I know it.

My life isn't perfect but I'm fortunate to have what I have and be where I choose to be.

When I think about the point of this post, the reason for sharing this aspect of my life, I realise it's simple. I want to show you what's possible if you change things up, if you follow a dream. I want to show you a different side of life, a life unexpected, a life less ordinary. So if you're considering a move like mine or you fancy a change, do me one small favour.

Follow your dream. Follow it now. Get out there. Enjoy it. Like it. But, most importantly, live it.

So how have you followed your dreams?

Do share below.

Travel Tips
Sydney