We moved into our new house on Thursday and spent the next three days with exactly one piece of furniture: our very nice bed. On Sunday we got some chairs - chairs! I'm writing this while seated in one at our dining room table next to a cup of tea and a crumpet. The house is very much liveable at this point - if you ignore the completely empty front room.
With all the house hunting and then house setting up and all the other stuff that goes into moving country, we haven't had a whole lot of time to explore Melbourne. But I can tell you that I really like it so far. Sure there are some quirky annoying things, but people are really friendly - really friendly. In fact, we have friends - friends! There's also a lower middle class here that simply does not exist in San Francisco; ads on TV entice people into certificate programs in construction. While it's hard to pinpoint exactly what this adds to a city - flavor? bargains? less snobbishness? - it seems clear that it's a good thing. Another good thing is that there are no Walgreens or RiteAids - just smaller, more personal pharmacies.
On the down side, Melbourne street signs are the size of a dollar bill and placed in the darkest part of an intersection at an angle that makes them legible only to an acrobat on a pogo stick. It makes for some interesting driving experiences in which tension in the car mount as I try to remember which side of the road to drive on and how to shift gears with my left hand while Z struggles with the maps and geography of a city he barely knows. Ah, fun.
While Melbourne may get a D in street signage, it gets an F minus in street numbering. Unlike the States, blocks are not numbered by the hundreds. This is merely annoying. What really sucks is that the numbers for a street will often start over in a new suburb. This means that there's a 203 Lygon Street in Carlton and, a few blocks north, a 203 Lygon Street in Brunswick. This has got to be the most stupid thing EVER. Who's idea was that???
But despite the road issues, I like Melbourne. I like the diversity, the comfort, the friendliness and the plethora of interesting things to explore. We have been here three weeks and haven't even scratched the surface of places to see and things to do. On the Yayboo Scale it falls clearly in the Yay.
October 31, 2006
October 23, 2006
Here
People keep asking me to blog, but I’m yet to be inspired to prose by this transition. There’s been too much going on for our little dial-up connection to capture, though I’ll now try to do my best.
It’s both strange and completely normal to be in Melbourne. My accent has returned quickly making it easy for me to pass as a local. The problem is that I have no idea how things work here, and I’m quickly discovering that it can be quite different to the way things work in the States. For example, I passed a bank branch last week with a sign in the window advertising new, extended hours. I glanced at the times listed and noticed that “extended” in Australia means M-F 9-5:00pm. Yep, that’s right: they don’t close at 4:30.
There are lots of other small things, like the traffic and pedestrian lights which last much longer than in SF. I find myself racing toward the corner when I see the light go green only to realize that it will stay green for a while and that there was no need to hurry.
The rental process here was also different. As far as I can tell, at least 99% of all properties are let through a realtor. They are responsible for showing the property at open houses, which are approximately every two weeks and last a total of about 20 minutes. We’ve had a few frantic days rushing between properties.
We found exactly one house that didn’t have something wrong with. “Wrong” in other buildings included a bright, apple green kitchen, which may sound fun but wasn’t; a hole in the wall; carpet that looked like the padding used under a carpet; a construction site next door; the most hideous tiles of swirled purple; a shower cubicle the size of my leg – just one leg; a bedroom in the attic accessed by a rickety ladder leading through a small hole in the ceiling; and most commonly, having to make the choice between living and dining rooms. But we did find one place we liked and so we applied for it. There weren’t many people at the open house, a refreshing change from other properties that were so full of prospective tenants that you could barely see the rooms. And, shocker of all shockers, we were chosen to be tenants! We sign the lease tomorrow.
Why so shocking? Well, Z doesn’t have a job and can’t legally work for the next couple of months while we wait for his residency to be processed. I’m a temp. We just arrived in the country and don’t have enough of a credit history to qualify for a cell phone plan. So, we got references sent in from the States and are paying two months rent up front. Eek! The good news is that we won’t need to pay rent until December.
And we move in on Thursday. Us and our four bags, two mugs, one bowl, one spoon (stolen from an airline), and brownie pan. We have a dining table and chairs coming this weekend, a couch set at my grandmother’s house, and we’re borrowing a bed that’s a little too small for either of us to get a good nights sleep. The obvious missing item is a fridge, which we’ll need to get on the sooner side.
And the place? It’s great. It’s a terrace - one of those places that has houses right against it on both sides. It’s brick – a novelty after years in the earthquake-prone bay area. It has a large kitchen/dining/living room with exposed brick, a skylight, and a wall of windows looking out on our twee yard with a couple of rose bushes, a wooden deck just waiting for a bbq, and the all-important clothes line. We have a bathroom with bright blue sink, toilet and tub, a laundry room, bedroom with built-in-robes and a nice office in the front. And, inexplicably, under the maple tree in the very small front yard, is a black bowling ball.
I still can’t believe we got it and that it’s so nice and that we’re going to be living in it in Melbourne for a few years. I can only assume that one day this will feel more real. Until then, I'm here. Just here.
It’s both strange and completely normal to be in Melbourne. My accent has returned quickly making it easy for me to pass as a local. The problem is that I have no idea how things work here, and I’m quickly discovering that it can be quite different to the way things work in the States. For example, I passed a bank branch last week with a sign in the window advertising new, extended hours. I glanced at the times listed and noticed that “extended” in Australia means M-F 9-5:00pm. Yep, that’s right: they don’t close at 4:30.
There are lots of other small things, like the traffic and pedestrian lights which last much longer than in SF. I find myself racing toward the corner when I see the light go green only to realize that it will stay green for a while and that there was no need to hurry.
The rental process here was also different. As far as I can tell, at least 99% of all properties are let through a realtor. They are responsible for showing the property at open houses, which are approximately every two weeks and last a total of about 20 minutes. We’ve had a few frantic days rushing between properties.
We found exactly one house that didn’t have something wrong with. “Wrong” in other buildings included a bright, apple green kitchen, which may sound fun but wasn’t; a hole in the wall; carpet that looked like the padding used under a carpet; a construction site next door; the most hideous tiles of swirled purple; a shower cubicle the size of my leg – just one leg; a bedroom in the attic accessed by a rickety ladder leading through a small hole in the ceiling; and most commonly, having to make the choice between living and dining rooms. But we did find one place we liked and so we applied for it. There weren’t many people at the open house, a refreshing change from other properties that were so full of prospective tenants that you could barely see the rooms. And, shocker of all shockers, we were chosen to be tenants! We sign the lease tomorrow.
Why so shocking? Well, Z doesn’t have a job and can’t legally work for the next couple of months while we wait for his residency to be processed. I’m a temp. We just arrived in the country and don’t have enough of a credit history to qualify for a cell phone plan. So, we got references sent in from the States and are paying two months rent up front. Eek! The good news is that we won’t need to pay rent until December.
And we move in on Thursday. Us and our four bags, two mugs, one bowl, one spoon (stolen from an airline), and brownie pan. We have a dining table and chairs coming this weekend, a couch set at my grandmother’s house, and we’re borrowing a bed that’s a little too small for either of us to get a good nights sleep. The obvious missing item is a fridge, which we’ll need to get on the sooner side.
And the place? It’s great. It’s a terrace - one of those places that has houses right against it on both sides. It’s brick – a novelty after years in the earthquake-prone bay area. It has a large kitchen/dining/living room with exposed brick, a skylight, and a wall of windows looking out on our twee yard with a couple of rose bushes, a wooden deck just waiting for a bbq, and the all-important clothes line. We have a bathroom with bright blue sink, toilet and tub, a laundry room, bedroom with built-in-robes and a nice office in the front. And, inexplicably, under the maple tree in the very small front yard, is a black bowling ball.
I still can’t believe we got it and that it’s so nice and that we’re going to be living in it in Melbourne for a few years. I can only assume that one day this will feel more real. Until then, I'm here. Just here.
October 06, 2006
The last voyage
We leave for Melbourne tomorrow morning, early. The excitement has changed to palpable tension. This flight brings our lollygagging to a close; reality and routine are about to become the norm. I both look forward to and dread the metamorphosis. There will be bills to pay and deadlines and most mornings will begin with an alarm. But that alarm will soon sound in our own home where we will (hopefully) be sleeping in our own bed.
I also portend some tension between Z and I. Moving to Melbourne is like going home to me. Though I haven't lived in that home for 15 years, I still have a vague sense of my way around and rough idea of what to expect. I am Australian, after all. Z, on the other hand, is not. Not only has he never lived in Melbourne, he has never lived out of the States. To him, Melbourne seems like a long way from home and full of foreign people, foreign customs and foreign accents - including mine, which is about to get a whole lot stronger. He will be the one who occasionally won't understand people, including me. Here in Wellington, we shared our immigrant status and miscomprehension of the "natives" and their "customs". In Melbourne, we will be in decidedly different boats. To take the metaphor too far, we will need to learn to row at the same speed.
So, while I will be itching for a home and more than a little anxious to find one, Z will need to take time to feel out the city and to gauge what it will be like to live there. I want to charge ahead; he wants to hold back. I'm sure that we will negotiate this with some element of grace though all will not be roast chicken and apple pie. I need to remember to go easy on him; I know how difficult it can be to move countries.
But soon enough, I suppose, I will be able to cook that dinner for my love in our new home. The tension will have been negotiated, the routines set and comfortable. And then we can start planning our next big adventure.
Ha!
I also portend some tension between Z and I. Moving to Melbourne is like going home to me. Though I haven't lived in that home for 15 years, I still have a vague sense of my way around and rough idea of what to expect. I am Australian, after all. Z, on the other hand, is not. Not only has he never lived in Melbourne, he has never lived out of the States. To him, Melbourne seems like a long way from home and full of foreign people, foreign customs and foreign accents - including mine, which is about to get a whole lot stronger. He will be the one who occasionally won't understand people, including me. Here in Wellington, we shared our immigrant status and miscomprehension of the "natives" and their "customs". In Melbourne, we will be in decidedly different boats. To take the metaphor too far, we will need to learn to row at the same speed.
So, while I will be itching for a home and more than a little anxious to find one, Z will need to take time to feel out the city and to gauge what it will be like to live there. I want to charge ahead; he wants to hold back. I'm sure that we will negotiate this with some element of grace though all will not be roast chicken and apple pie. I need to remember to go easy on him; I know how difficult it can be to move countries.
But soon enough, I suppose, I will be able to cook that dinner for my love in our new home. The tension will have been negotiated, the routines set and comfortable. And then we can start planning our next big adventure.
Ha!
October 04, 2006
Now I understand
So *this* is what they mean, those hardened Wellingtonians, when they intone the word "Southerly" with grave misgiving. Lying in bed this morning, I watched the curtains sway gently as the howling wind blew through the tightly closed windows and the plastic seal that J&A cleverly put up to insulate against winter. In the bathroom, I listen to the washing line spin in manic, squeaky circles and feel air stir against my skin. At the doctor's office, the radio tells me to expect gusts of up to 120kph. Walking home, I literally get blown sideways as I cross the school playground. For once, the locals and I look similarly cold and miserable in our hats, raincoats, scarves and gloves.
This afternoon, Z and I are going to take a bus out to the Cook Strait to see what kind of recklessness this gale has stirred up in the ocean. Until then, I'm huddling in some blankets next to the heater with my laptop on my thighs for added warmth and a cup of hot ginger to toast my insides.
This afternoon, Z and I are going to take a bus out to the Cook Strait to see what kind of recklessness this gale has stirred up in the ocean. Until then, I'm huddling in some blankets next to the heater with my laptop on my thighs for added warmth and a cup of hot ginger to toast my insides.
October 01, 2006
Losing time
It's been a very bizarre morning and it's only 10:23am. I woke up at 7:20 this morning, groaned on the inside and lay in bed for a few minutes trying to fall back asleep. I opened my eyes again, ready to surrender to wakefullness, and looked at the clock: 8:56. Huh? I would swear that I hadn't fallen back asleep and that I was lying there awake for under 20 minutes. I seem to have lost an hour and a half.
Thinking about this is enough to kick my brain into full awake mode so up I get to make myself some tea.
First stop of the day to check e-mail and my usual blog and news sites. I need to actually accomplish a few things this week, so I give myself an hour to play on-line before tackling various items on my to-do list. I glance at the computer clock: 10:23. Huh??? I look at the clock on the Mac and it reads the same time. By my calculations it should be 9:23. Perhaps daylight saving time has kicked in - or ended? I can never figure out which section of the year is which. So I check the local paper on-line: nothing. I check another local paper: still nothing. Have I unwittingly entered the twilight zone?
Google - ah, Google, has the answers as it always does. It is indeed the end of daylight saving time. The fact that eNZed does not advertise this on the cover of its newspapers goes hand in hand with the fact that all its banks close at 4:30pm and are not open on Saturdays. Clearly, if the banks stayed open later the newspapers would tell us when it's time to change our clocks.
I take this as another sign that it is time to move to Melbourne where they have discovered the key to world peace and a solution rampant global warming.
Thinking about this is enough to kick my brain into full awake mode so up I get to make myself some tea.
First stop of the day to check e-mail and my usual blog and news sites. I need to actually accomplish a few things this week, so I give myself an hour to play on-line before tackling various items on my to-do list. I glance at the computer clock: 10:23. Huh??? I look at the clock on the Mac and it reads the same time. By my calculations it should be 9:23. Perhaps daylight saving time has kicked in - or ended? I can never figure out which section of the year is which. So I check the local paper on-line: nothing. I check another local paper: still nothing. Have I unwittingly entered the twilight zone?
Google - ah, Google, has the answers as it always does. It is indeed the end of daylight saving time. The fact that eNZed does not advertise this on the cover of its newspapers goes hand in hand with the fact that all its banks close at 4:30pm and are not open on Saturdays. Clearly, if the banks stayed open later the newspapers would tell us when it's time to change our clocks.
I take this as another sign that it is time to move to Melbourne where they have discovered the key to world peace and a solution rampant global warming.
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