Ozillations

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Ozillations

“Things are just different here,” Amy said. It’s become our refrain, repeated every time we find ourselves in what appears to be a familiar situation that turns out a shade differently than it would in the states. It can be something as simple as mayonnaise. The label might say “Kraft Classic Mayonnaise” but the ingredients belie the truth. It’s made with sugar. And mustard. Yuck.
“But if I wanted things to be the same, I wouldn’t have come.” That’s the second half of the refrain. Because it is only through experiencing the differences do we get that valuable perspective that only comes from living abroad.

I arrived about two weeks ago and Amy got me from the airport. She’d parked for about an hour. It cost $20.

We drove to a nearby beach, 20 minutes away, under a cloudless sky, the spring-time sun glinted off the azure water. Crabs scuttled in the tide pools as sand fleas buried themselves in the beach. Thursday afternoon and people sunned themselves on towels, men mostly. Exclusively. Naked.

Different, alright. And on so many levels. And most of the time, there’s no ingredients label to read. We just pays our money and takes our chances. “I’d heard there was a naked beach somewhere in Sydney,” Amy said.

We’re living in Rodd Point, 200 meters (see?) from the Iron Cove waterfront in an art deco house that Amy found, sharing it with another Amy and her boyfriend Duncan. He’s a surveyor. She works in HR. He’s traveled widely, including living for quite a while in the US where he and several other members of an Australian Rugby team toured the country playing exhibition games. At least that’s what they told the cops when officers observed the swerving van, it’s driver trying to maintain stasis amid a drunken brawl that had broken out among the house painters, er, I mean teammates. Duncan’s a good story teller and has a very Australian perspective. He loves his sport and a beer with the boys. And he’s been around enough to know a few things. Consider this perspective:

“Americans don’t travel outside the country much,” I said during one of our get acquainted conversations.
“That’s because they think ‘Why should we? We’ve got everything right here,” he said.
I’ve heard this frequently from people who’ve been in the US.

Getting adjusted to a new place is often fraught with challenges. For one, Amy’s working full time, traveling a lot and aside from setting us up with a house near great recreation opportunities, that’s left me to sort out most of my own details. It took 45 minutes to get my visa stamped down at the main office. A bank account led to an address which led to a library card and thus, local internet access. We’re on a bus line to the city center, 30 minutes away. Within walking distance there are two 50-meter pools, three tennis courts, a dog park with a café, several open spaces, groceries and all the rest. A week ago I bought a bike, a ‘flat-bar roadie’ on which I can get to the city as fast as the bus.

I’ve checked out the yoga scene but again, things are a bit different. Amy misses the diversity of talented teachers we’d found in Denver and across much of the states. And in talking with my former yoga schoolmates, it’s a struggle to make it here. One fellow is doing okay, earning a dollar a minute, but with a baby on the way, is still working 17 classes a week to pay the bills. Two others have lighter schedules and are finding other ways to make ends meet. Like anywhere I’ve been but China, being a yoga teacher is a financial struggle.

That’s why I’ve been pursuing the angle of ‘trades assistant’ as it is called here. A week ago I made five calls to guys who own franchises with Hire A Hubby. Two called back with tentative work offers. It looks like I can make my usual $25 an hour and once I get my name and reputation out there, will likely have plenty of work. “There are a lot of old houses in Sydney,” one said. “They’re always needing something.”

To be official though, I have a few hoops to jump through. One is getting a ‘green card’ which is actually white, but just the same, allows me access to construction sites. Workplaces are much more regulated here, at least compared to the wilds of Alaska, and there are stiff fines for anyone on a jobsite who hasn’t taken a five-hour safety course.

The one I took Wednesday cost $90. There were 14 of us, more than half of whom spoke English. Four Polish guys were there and with a little help, like an open book exam and the instructor offering tips like “guys, you might want to write this one down” we all passed. I have no idea what those other fellows learned but my take home was that in 2004 some 500 people had died in construction related accidents, falls being the most hazardous, followed by electrocution and crushing. They’re also big on UV radiation hazards. Nearly everyone over age 50 it seems is making regular trips to the doctor to have skin cancers removed.

Health insurance is mandatory and I can say is a joy to get. I just walked into a storefront office, filled out an application and got it same day. It costs about $160 a month and I got the cheaper policy, saving $10 a month, because it won’t pay to repatriate me to the US in case I get really sick, like with cancer or something. But if that happens, the US is among the last places I want to go, given that I’d arrive with no insurance and a pre-existing condition, something that the insurance company here didn’t even ask about. Not that it is all roses. Amy explained that the only way to get things covered is to be hurt while driving or at work. Seems there are loopholes for people hurt on their own time.

I’m sure if one was to look at the statistics, nearly everyone gets hurt on the job or while driving, even the unemployed. Every one seems familiar with all the rules and how to bend around them. “Life is all about cheating,” Duncan said the other night. “You have to. If you don’t do it, the other guy will.”

His statement came as a bit of a shock to Amy and me, but then I think we both got off our pious high horses when we looked at the dirt on our own hands. But enough about that.
In Financial news, I have a job, for four weeks anyway. Amy’s company needed someone to do temporary fill in and they called me. I don’t know my title, but the duty is to drive around in a small pickup (No one drives a full-size anything here, gas is $5 a gallon) and replace the filters on oxygen concentrators that the company rents out to people with respiratory problems. That means I go into their homes and in 15 minutes, make some chit chat, give the machine a once-over, leave them some supplies and move onto the next client

I’m making $19 an hour which sounds good, but is not a long way above the functional minimum wage. Stuff is expensive here. A trip to the grocery store costs $50. Bananas are $2 a pound. A bus to the city is $3.70. Yoga classes are $18. The house rent is $500 a week. That said, health insurance is affordable and comprehensive car insurance on an old beater is only $600 a year.

The real job perk is that I get the truck for a month with a gas card and an EZ Pass for the numerous toll roads. They also offered a GPS navigation system because the roads here are crazy confusing and I’d be spending most of my day hopelessly sticking my nose into the 300-page street directory instead of getting the job done. Since Sydney surrounds a bay, there’s no grid and no semblance of reason to the layout, even out in the ‘burbs where I spend most of my time. Even more challenging, roads change their names with no warning. And house numbers regularly break pattern. Knowing that, John, my supervisor, offered the GPS to make me more efficient.

So far, it works like magic and helped me knock off a half-day’s worth of jobs in my first half day on the road. It makes driving here really easy. Easy enough that I wonder if I will develop a dependence on this device or if I will figure out the geography. Amy’s jealous. In addition to being required to take driving lessons, she had to learn in winter. “This is a lot different now,” she said on Friday as I drove to a yoga class. “I had to learn in the dark and the rain.” Ugh.

Till next time! - John

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Comments

[grareen]

welconme
Mate...if you only get one go of living outside your own space - let this be it!