Since landing here in australia, sarah and I have been planning our wedding. Well, we were in a bit of denial with the planning part for the first few months… but we eventually got our act together and have been working pretty hard to get all the logistics worked out. In about 3 weeks we’ll be flying to hawaii… with a dozen or so guests from australia… to join a dozen or so guests from the united states… all for the sake of the big event. I think we’re both pretty excited… and admittedly a bit nervous. I guess it’s one of those things that you think about alot, but in the abstract. You know it’s eventually coming - but it feels distant… almost surreal. But here we are now… just 3 weeks to go.

Wish us luck!

]]> http://amomentadrift.com/blog/2009/10/20/3-weeks-and-counting/feed/ http://amomentadrift.com/blog/2009/08/31/my-favorites-so-far/ http://amomentadrift.com/blog/2009/08/31/my-favorites-so-far/#comments Mon, 31 Aug 2009 14:21:47 +0000 Christopher http://amomentadrift.com/blog/?p=105

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down and wrote a blog. I’m still here. And it looks like you’re still there. More coming soon… but in the meantime, I’ve wanted to sit down and go through my pictures for a long time. If you click the picture above, you’ll be taken to a gallery of what I’m considering my favorite shots I’ve made since starting my flickr account nearly 2 years ago. This evening I spent a while sifting through the 5,400 or so images… to bring you my personal favorites (all 280 or so of them). So, if you’ve got some time to kill… click away.

My grandfather passed away in the early morning hours of July the 5th… in a care home… in the town he had lived in since the mid 50’s.

And so I left australia and returned to the united states - to see my family… to pay respects to the man I had known my whole life as “Tata.”

I couldn’t say what my first memories were of the man - but the old pictures in my Nana’s album show that he had always been there. holding me as an infant… taking care of me and my brother in the late 80s in california… endless summer vacations spent in that small tucson home… christmas celebrations… the beaming joy in his eyes the day I graduated from university…

Tata had lived a full life… traveling the globe with the navy during the war, and later traveling on his own… rising to the rank of captain in the arizona highway patrol… retiring… and on to countless volunteer organizations… along the way, raising a family of children… and often helping to raise countless grandchildren.

when we were young, we were scared of him. he seemed mean, and less than patient with us and our clumsy, youthful ways… but as we grew to adults… and as Tata grew to old age… things seemed to settle… or at least, perhaps we began to understand each other a little better.

In the end, it was Tata’s mind that began to give way to the eighty odd years of life. Over the past few years, dementia had taken its grip. Shortly before this past christmas, my family moved him into an assisted care home… and we spent that first christmas without him… for the first time in decades.

death is something I think about often… but perhaps in much more of an abstract way. Tata’s death was probably the first instance that its landed so close.

descanse, abuelo. voy a extrañarle usted.

It doesn’t always come up - at least not in my day to day thoughts… not when I’m thinking about what to eat for lunch or what I should do for the weekend. It usually comes up in those quiet moments… those alone moments - when you stare out into the horizon… with nothing more than a tremedous feeling of singular obscurity. When you’re pressed against the backdrop of the glowing, infinite skyline… it’s that overwhelming feeling of insignificance that sweeps over you… pressed against the backdrop of time… of mankind… of that unforgiving clock that moves us forward with each tick… with each tock… that moves us all together… hand in hand… towards our end.

And we’re all aware of this… like some touchy subject that presses its weight on the room… even as we all awkwardly smile and make polite small talk. But as much as it doesn’t come up in the banality of day to day - it does weigh on us - it influences nearly every choice we make… it inspires our art… our music… and even our comedy.

you, i, and everyone we know
are not long for this world
and as much as I don’t think about it…
I think about it.

I recently watched a documentary I borrowed from the library here… it was called ‘a certain kind of death’ and it spent its 90 flickering minutes presenting how the city of los angeles handles the death of those without survivors or next of kin… like william tanner, the amateur actor who, after burying both is mother and best friend, was left with no one to bury him…

The process is methodical for the most part - investigators search the premises of the deceased - looking for wills or letters or photographs or bank statements… anything that would tied the lifeless body to this world… to a family or friends or loved ones. But despite this effort… despite the furniture and paintings and uneaten frozen dinners… for some, there is nothing that shows that they were ever really here.

And the seeming tragedy of this situation fades away… to process and procedure… to estate sales and letters to creditors… to quiet cremation and group buriel… folding in to time… to forgotten faces and forgotten names…

But I still can’t help wonder what it was thinking about… as it laid there in the dew covered grass… that gray possom. It laid on its side, twitching… starring in to my eyes as I passed it the other morning.

was it afraid?
did it know what was happening?
watching its final sunrise crest the treeline
on its final day

and yet, days later, as I watched a man being revived after fainting in the grocery store… I couldn’t help recognize that same look in his eyes… that same look that the possum gave me… that distant, fearful glance… as he lay there among the puddle of spilled milk and broken eggs - after his brush with the emptiness… his brush with dying.

it’s these brushes with death that keep bringing the subject to the surface for me… even through the day to day… the small talk… the radio commercials… the work deadlines… the situational comedies…

Though we toss and turn and bellow and wail and extol our significance to others… to the world…
like william tanner, mankind will move on quietly without us. These things we covet… these possessions we surround ourselves with will, in an unfaithful final act, survive us… and go to the highest bidder.

That all of us - born of flesh or fur or scale… come in to this world with nothing.
and we we’ll leave it the same way.

this is our ultimate irony.

Despite the economic crisis and becoming a new migrant to australia, I was able to find some employment in the same field as I had worked in portland. I’m a little more than a month in and things are pretty good. It’s funny, but a few months ago, I was missing work - the interesting bits at least… the challenge and sense of accomplishment… the friends… the money. Call that a bit of nostalgia. I’ve rejoined the workforce - and while it does feel good to throw myself into some honest work - I definitely feel the days begin to race away from me… and that dull longing for the weekend lodge itself in my gut.

There are definitely some slight quirks to how the aussies do things here - at least in the industry I work in. But for the most part, it’s the same… building buildings is building buildings. I do get the opportunity to brush away the cobwebs on my memory of the metric system - as it’s all millimeters, kilowatts and pascals down here. Like learning another language though, it’s just a different way to say the same thing. Of course, with metric, there’s the added bonus of logical increments… 10 millimeters is a centimeter and such. But for now things are good.

eat

Alas, my carnivorous ways have ended. I’ve returned to the way of the vegetable. But fear not, I didn’t jump back on the “v” wagon before eating a few meat pies (popular here in aus… sort of like a mini pot pie… but different) as well as sinking my teeth into a kangaroo steak…. surprisingly tasty, mind you. Harvesting kangaroos here for food is a bit of a controversy. They’re largely considered pests - australians hit them with cars like we hit deer (with the same unfortunate outcome) and the kangaroos damage farmers’ crops (I’m not sure if our deer do the same). But, they’re a naturally lean source of meat that is considered bio-friendly - in that they’re native, vegetarian animals that don’t naturally strain the environment or require large amounts of food and water. But there’s a bit of a stigma for some aussies when it comes to grilling up the “roos.” “Skippy” was a famous TV character kangaroo that helped promote the cause of animal conservation… so, to some aussies - eating kangaroos is on par with eating “Lassie.” But as a whole, kangaroos as a food source, instead of tv personalities, is widely gaining acceptance.

sleep

Sarah and I found a place near the downtown of melbourne - about a 10 minute walk to federation square and pretty close to swan, smith, and brunswick streets (think capitol hill, seattle or hawthorne, portland). Melbourne is an interesting city so far - lots of art, music, and sports… pretty diverse cultural influences as well. Walking down the street, you’re bound to hear a multitude of languages. There’s a sort of little vietnam on victoria street - a chinatown in the heart of the city - an italian quarter near the university of melbourne - and a greek concentration in carlton as well as ohter areas. Like many cities, the actual post code (zip code) 3000 - “melbourne” is not very big. Travel a few streets out of the heart and you’ll find yourself in neighborhoods like fitzroy, abbotsford, st. kilda - and each of these neighborhoods has a bit of its own flavor… its own offerings.

we live in east melbourne - also called jollimont - in a quaint little flat with hard wood floors, art deco finishes and an awesome communal rooftop area. I walk to work everyday - through leafy green parks… and that suits me just fine.

repeat

Indeed - a lot has taken place over the last month - as melbourne descends into winter (in may… weird) - the days are shorter and the sound of footy is in the air (I live next to the melbourne cricket ground… think living next to seahawk stadium). Things are going well so far…

The next big planning event is the wedding… but more on that later…

wow. things move fast.
since writing my last post, I’ve…

found a place to live
found a job
had a fun engagement party here in aus
got a library card

and I’m thankful for all four
I’ve got a few observations in the cooker… so stay tuned.

Wow. My entire trip I’ve been hearing echoes of “economic crisis”, “credit crunch”, and “global economic down-turn.” As a wayward (unemployed) traveler, these reports are pretty insignificant. The media may be shouting doom and gloom - but you’re not really listening.

Now I’m listening.

Let’s see… I’ve met with two recruitment agencies… emailed off about a dozen query (cold call) letters… oh, and actually applied for about five jobs. And…

Nil. Nada. Nothing…

I was at a party recently and was speaking with a young guy who worked loosely in my same field. I mentioned a company who I had applied for a job with that same day.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I heard they just made a third of their workforce redundant.” (”made redundant” is the british and antipodean phrase for “laid off.” somehow their wording sounds so much more defeating)

I know… I know… anyone out there reading this little whinge (complaint) will probably have little sympathy for a person who took a year off to travel. Especially if that reader has spent the last year trying to keep their job… or save their house. But take heart, I’ve joined you, and now share (at least in some small part) your pain.

So back to the drawing board with this job seeker. Too bad I never trained as an undertaker or accountant…

but perhaps even death and taxes have felt the pinch of economic slowdown these days…

For most of my adult life, I’ve lived in the pacific northwest of the united states - oregon and washington states actually. I once read a short bite in seattle’s “the stranger” that compared the major cities in the northwest. Seattle (washington) was the pretty youngest daughter, fair and smart but perhaps eclipsed in beauty and elegance by its older sister, vancouver (british columbia), with her mix of glass and sea. Portland (oregon) was aptly (and affectionately) described as the edgy, older brother who probably owed you money.

The pacific northwest is a magical place - where shimmering towers meet mountain and forest and water. The people there are vibrant, liberal, outdoorsy - they take pride in micro-brewed beer, stiff coffee, and smoked fish. In my life, it’s been the place I’ve returned to… twice even.

Australia is comprised of seven major cities / metro areas - sydney, melbourne, perth, brisbane, canberra, hobart, and adelaide (perhaps you could even add darwin and cairns to the list). The majority of these areas are located on the east coast of the island continent… and despite how close they may appear to each other on the map, they’ve quite far apart.

Melbourne was described to me as the edgy / alternative part of australia. My experience so far seems to agree with that description. It’s amazing to me that some of the most interesting bars/clubs/hangouts in melbourne can’t actually be seen withthe naked eye. They’re hidden - down dark alleys, behind XXX shops… or they’re an ancient elevator ride up a few floors in a non-descript office building. Brunswick and smith streets have an interesting mix of grimy 19th century architecture, graffiti, bars, souv shops, prostitutes and artists - clashing together like a bright modern art painting any night of the week. Other places, like chapel and acland streets, are a little less rough around the edges - where chain establishments and nice dress abound.

But upon returning to australia from my visa excursion, I didn’t come directly back to melbourne. I wanted to visit australia’s largest - and perhaps most well known city, sydney. So I flew into sydney from auckland with a train ticket headed down to melbourne five days later.

If melbourne is similar to portland, or seattle even, sydney would have to be more like vancouver - if for no other reason than it’s gorgeous.

Sydney’s circular quay and rocks areas are an elegant mix of progressive and historic… offering stunning views of sydney’s two iconic fixtures, the opera house and the bay bridge. But to describe sydney only as “pretty” wouldn’t do it much justice. I tried to spend a night in each of the urban center’s main areas - to get a better feel of the city as a whole. What’s great about the city is just how diverse it is.

Gorgeous beaches with a laid back feel… check.
Urban towers and boundless shopping… check.
Edgy streets and bars… check.
Getting a nasty case of bed bugs from a dirty budget hostel… check.
Ethnic influenced areas and shops… check.
Stumbling on to the red carpet of the mtv australian music awards… check.
Seeing vanilla ice in person… check (cross that one off my list of 1001 things to do before I die).

I couldn’t help feel like I had just scratched the surface after spending five days in sydney. Maybe in time I would have come to complain about its sprawl or uppity attitude (like I’ve heard other melburnians do). But for now its a wonderful and exciting city.

No offense to melbourne. If nothing else, the trip to sydney renewed my desire to explore melbourne further…

maybe even find some melburnian bed bugs to contend with.

We were all born somewhere - reared in our respective cultures. Some of us learned to speak french, some japanese. Some of us were educated, some learned a trade. Our collective experiences and backgrounds help define us - if not to ourselves, at least to others. While traveling, the ubiquitous “what do you do?” was replaced with “where are you from?”… followed shortly by “where have you been?” But the intent of the questions is the same - what is really being asked is “what label do I put on you, new character in my life, where do I file you away?” We all do it - with no more an insidious notion than “breaking the ice” or better understanding each other. It’s kind of like shorthand - reducing the complexities of language to the essential components of message. But it’s just a starting point. It gives us a basis to begin with - requiring further interaction to fill in the details. Some interactions on the road are so brief that we never get past our initial labels. With others, we may find that our shorthand… our stereotypes… are way off. And this isn’t always a bad thing.

Arguably, none of my observations are new. You’ve probably made similar ones yourself. But I think that this “labeling” process can also be interior. Just as our basic experiences are used by others to catagorize us - I think we can also do this to ourselves.

The day after I returned to melbourne from sydney, I attended an employment conference. Presented by the australian state of victoria, the conference was intended for skilled migrants newly arrived in australia. To be honest, I didn’t really give the “intended audience” any real thought before registering for the conference. All I knew was that I was a newly minted “provincial resident” and on the job hunt.

The conference began with a presentation on the current job market in victoria - including a whole lot of statistics on demographics and employment trends. It was very interesting and the speaker was professional and eloquent. I guess it was shortly in to the second speaker’s presentation that it dawned on me.

The second speaker focused her discussion on the “hidden” job market - not anything I hadn’t heard before - the importance of making contacts and such - but then she began speaking about english proficiency, of all things, and it’s then that I took a hard look around the room.

Everyone there was a migrant to australia. Most were from india and china… some, like the gentleman from mauritius at my table, were born in aus but raised elsewhere. Still others, like me, were here for family purposes. English, for nearly all, was a second or third language. And when I say that everyone in that room was a migrant… it took a while for me to realize… that “everyone” also included me.

I guess when I looked at my own situation it was easier to use that shorthand… I was born in a first world nation, spoke english as my native language, was university educated and professionally experienced. I never really thought of myself as a “migrant.” What do you think of when someone says the word “migrant?” In confession, images of poverty-stricken refugees in search of a better life or to escape persecution come to mind for me. But indeed, here I was, in a roomful of migrants… including myself.

These were “skilled” migrants - and I shortly learned that the room was full of lawyers, accountants, engineers, therapists, teachers, and doctors. These people were highly educated and professionally experienced… and like me, looking for work in a new country. But these people had worked harder to get here - becoming proficient in english and wading through the immigration process to have their skills recognized by australia. Whether it was to improve their station in life or expand their career opportunities, they had emigrated here.

As the presentations continued, I was absolutely impressed at the skill in which the presenters shared “real world” advice for foreign jobseekers while still being culturally sensitive. Undoubtedly, there was prejudice and discrimination that these migrants were going to have to face and overcome here… that I was going to have to face and overcome here.

What a strange feeling - to have it brought forward so suddenly - to realize that indeed, you are a migrant. That you’re “joining” another country - a foreigner in a foreign land. And though language may not be as much a hurdle as for others, the challenges that lay ahead are as formidable. That there, in that room, were 50 odd souls - none of which were born where you were… none shared experiences quite like yours. I couldn’t help think about the people who had emigrated to the united states… written in the pages at ellis island - that though my experience my seem trivial to theirs… trivial to the people attending the conference… that indeed we shared some of the same experience… that we were migrants.

As the conference drew to a close there was a Q/A session. The questions were varied, but one man shared his frustration with the bureaucratic challenges of finding work here. The panel fielding questions gave different responses, some very positive and encouraging. Then a member of the panel, a newly emigrated man from india, stood to address the other man’s frustration.

“Tell me, sir, what type of visa are you on?”
“Permanent. I’m a permanent resident.”

He paused and surveyed the room.

“Then, sir, it’s not their  system. It’s our system. You are australian… We are all australians.”

And in that moment, though our backgrounds and experiences varied… our “labels” different… I felt a common thread pull between us… between myself and those around me. 

Put down your mouse. Walk out your front door. Yes. Right now… and come right back.
Welcome back. What did you see?

Chances are, if you live in the united states, you just walked out and got a glimpse of australia (without the long flight even)… or maybe close to it…

Maybe with different trees… or slightly different looking houses and signs… or a slightly different climate (it just became autumn down under). Seems a bit far fetched, huh? It probably is - but my point is that my  6 week impression of australia (victoria) is that it’s remarkably like the united states… only different.

To me, australia is a parallel universe to the states. On the surface, it’s eeriely similar in the way it feels and functions… but, with close inspection, it’s strangely different…

Now, some of you well traveled readers would argue that just about any developed nation has areas that seem “americanized”… especially in the urban centers and middle class suburbs. That’s probably true - but those places show their hands too readily… the place names look different… the language… the age of the architecture… they just feel different.

I’m not saying australia is exactly like the states… australia tips its hand as well. only, it seems to do it a little more subtly. This parallel universe reveals itself in the details.

A few weeks into my first visit to australia, I was in blackburn south - an otherwise unremarkable suburb blurring into a group of otherwise unremarkable suburbs on the east side of melbourne. I took a bike ride through the neighborhood to a small park. This park could have been in anytown, australia… in fact, it could have been in anytown, usa - except, for maybe the trees (the gumtree, “eucalyptus,” being the pine’s down under cousin in ubiquity).

As I came to a clearing in the park, I gazed to my right. There was a small, fenced in area with a flat, manicured lawn. There, old men, dressed in white, were standing around in the dying sun, rolling colored balls across the lawn with great concentration. I watched for a few moments and then rode further. Shortly thereafter, I stopped again. This time gazing to my left. In the middle of the field a large group of young men in tight uniforms were running in circles and kicking what looked like an american football to each other. A coach of sorts was shouting instructions to them as they practiced their drills.

And this is where I stopped…

Here were two groups of people, both old and young, partaking in sports that I had never seen in the states. But to them, this was what they had spent (at a least a portion of) their lives learning, practicing, competing, talking about, and dreaming about. This was a glimpse into their world… one different than my own. This was australia tipping its hand - reminding me that I wasn’t in the states. And just as quickly - just as I rode off - I was back in the non-descript neighborhoods… back in to anytown, victoria… anytown, california.

Other things about australia are similar to the united states… at least on their surface. The language is the same - but with a nasal, warm accent. The cars are the same - but they drive on the left hand and feature aussie centric brands such as holden (as well as a small truck that looks like a revised el camino). Things have been given different names… a convenience store is a milk bar, a car trunk is a boot, a diaper is a nappie, and to root… well that’s something entirely different.

In all of these characteristics, austrial reveals itself as australia… a warm, friendly, beautiful place… remarkably similar to my homeland yet unique in its own way.

But for now, it’s my parallel universe… and as I wait to board this flight to sydney… it’s become my new home… at least for now.