Sailing in Oz: Fair Weather Cruisers Need Not Apply

I’m a seasoned Southern California sailor. I’ve cruised up and down the shoreline and over to Catalina hundreds of time. John and I have also done quite a bit of racing together. First the Cal 20, and then this summer in the Catalina Island Series…just the two of us taming 20 knot winds and almost keeping up with the rock stars of the fleet.

So moving to Sydney was a natural. We came ready to sail. Brought our deck shoes, our sailing gloves. And as an afterthought we threw in our foul weather gear. Who knows, it could get a little chilly in the winter, we reasoned.

Well, we were about to learn about sailing in Sydney.

One day, we were boarding a ferry to go into the city, when John began to talk to one of the locals about sailing.

‘Are you a sailor?’, he asked.

‘Yes, we have a C&C 121 at home in Long Beach’. John replied.

‘Really, where do you race it?’ he then asked.

Since I’ve been in Australia, I listen carefully for language nuances, and what happened in that conversation did not escape me. John went directly from being a sailor to a racer, without wasting an interim question. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t presumptuous. It was merely the use of two synonymous words in the Aussie vocabulary: sailing and racing.

And we’re not just talking about a casual cruise around the buoys, we are talking about SERIOUS racing. John has been lucky enough to crew on a 30 ft. boat on Wednesday nights. It’s a boat that has raced in the Sydney to Hobart race a few times. It has also sailed in the Transpac (Los Angeles to Honolulu)….Yes, I said a 30 foot boat…only 9 feet longer than our Duffy.

And, as John will tell you, if you’ve done a Wednesday night race, be prepared to feel it on Thursday…and Friday. Of course, that’s assuming that you are not racing on Thursday or Friday, or Saturday, or Monday, or Tuesday. Yes, on the Seventh Day they rest…sometimes.

Which leads me to our second lesson about ‘sailracing’ in Sydney. It appears that Sydney racers would be good candidates for US postal service recruiting.

One evening in November, I arrived home in the middle of a tumultuous thunderstorm. The wind was gusting to around 40 knots. There was hail falling. It was a great night to lock the door and stay inside. But, it was also a Monday night…which meant it was a ‘sailracing’ night.

As I gazed out my kitchen window, I saw dozens of boats, crews dressed in foulies…not because it might be a little chilly, but because it was downright foul out there. I watch in shock as they skipped over the white caps, expecting them to come to their senses and return. They did. An hour and a half later when they finished the race!

So little surprises me about sailing here any more.

Except for yesterday morning. I looked out the window and saw a big fat cruising sailboat with a dodger and bimini. It was towing a dinghy.

And I thought…’You’re not from around here…’

Stuff

'A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it' George Carlin

When you move to the other end of the world, you learn stuff about stuff. You learn that, while the idea of stuff is universal, there are local 'stuff nuances' that have very practical implications.

So, as I was packing for the big move, I was suddenly facing some big decisions about my stuff. What stays, what goes on plane, what goes on the ship, and what do I (OH NO) get rid of?

Well, being an American with more stuff (and closet space) than anyone needs, the choices seemed simple.

What stuff stays in Long Beach? The stuff that I haven't touched in 10 years, will not miss while I am gone, but I will definitely need when I get back to the States. Like the overalls that I bought at Costco in 1988. They're essential to my being.

What stuff goes on the ship? Anything that I might have touched in 5 years and might again touch in the next 5 years. Surely it is critical that I have it while I am in Australia.

What stuff goes on the plane? Just enough stuff to tide me over for a few months. (More about this later.)

What stuff do I get rid of? That little pile over there. (But wait...surely I might need the feathered Tiara from New Years Eve 1997. Let me grab it before it goes to Goodwill.)

So all these decisions were made in September, knowing that the stuff on the ship would not arrive in Sydney until sometime in November.

So, in the interim, with the precision of an air traffic controller, I brought some winter/spring clothing on the first flight to Sydney. I left clothing for the Hawaii vacation in Long Beach to retrieve in October. I shipped that clothing from Hawaii to Sydney when the vacation was over and I headed straight to Tokyo. I left summer business clothing in Tokyo for a month between business trips. I bought warmer clothing on my next trip to Tokyo, since it was now fall. I shipped that clothing back to Sydney when the trip was over. I carried some back to Sydney after that trip, where I was successfully reunited with all that stuff.

Fast forward to November, and I have just been notified that the ship arrived in Sydney yesterday. It will take a week or two to clear customs. But, Houston, here's where we have a problem.

The apartment in Sydney has 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1 medium sized closet in the master bedroom, one small coat closet in the hall, and one humongous linen closet that could hold all the linens on the QE2....that's it. The master closet is already full with all the stuff above (plus a few of John's shirts and jeans). Apparently, Australians prefer their stuff to be in the form of towels, sheets and tablecloths, rather than apparel. By the way, this is not just a theory. I have concrete evidence. Sunday, our neighbor in the next building put a white linen tablecloth on his patio table to serve some friends burgers. He was wearing shorts, a tee shirt and flip flops.

So that brings me back to the stuff on the ship? What do we do with it? Well, we are hastily assembling a new Ikea wardrobe, and figuring out how to repurpose the linen closet to be more suitable to Americans, we are also facing the harsh reality that some of the stuff has to go...

..Or maybe I can rent a storage locker...

Bird is the Word

So here I am at the other end of the world. I am reminded every morning how I live in a semi tropical environment...beginning at about 4:30 AM.

Around that time, the birds begin their version of constant communications...and while they are in effect 'tweeting' it is very different than Twitter. There's noise...lots of it.

Perhaps the most notable contributor to the noise is the cockatoo that we have named Kingsley. His favorite perch is atop the tallest tree in the neighborhood. This tree happens to resemble a Christmas tree, and Kingsley sits atop it like an angel ornament...except that he's no angel.

He (making an assumption on the gender) is quite territorial, sitting at the top and squawking at every bird that dares to sit at his level. His squawk sounds very much like an imitation of Burgess Meredith's signature Penguin laugh in Batman. Holy feather ruffling, Batman, I think we need to get to the Batcave. And yes the connection to Batman is bigger than just the Penguin. More on this later.

But Kingsley has numerous foes to chase. First to mind are the Magpies. Remember Heckel and Jeckle? Well, they live here. And the cartoon was less imagination and more reality based. One tried to walk its way into my kitchen last week. And its gait was very reminiscent of Heckel, or maybe Jeckel.

Then there are the 'cheeseburger' birds. Anyone who has spent any time in Hawaii knows the birds with the shrill, short staccato cry that sounds like 'Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger' Well the Aussie version has an Aussie accent, and I'm not sure if it's asking for vegimite.

Of course, let's not forget the green parrots that are abundant, and the myna birds that do their fair share of cackling.

But nothing compares to the non-bird flying beings. The bats. Every evening at sunset, the bats take off from the Royal Bontanical gardens that sit across the bay from our apartment. And for about 20 minutes, 'Bat TV' is on air. Thousands of these magnificent flying rodents go past our window. Some settling in the fruit bearing tree behind our apartment, some soaring off to distant feeding grounds. With a wing span of close to 3 feet, it is really a sight to behold.

Now I just want to sleep past 4:30...

The Silly Millimeter: furnishing the apartment

Back in the 60's, when cigarette companies were allowed to advertise on U.S. TV...and have fun doing it, there was a company called Benson and Hedges who gained notoriety by offering a 100 mm cigarette that was longer than anything else on the market. (until a competitor offered one that was a 'silly millimeter longer')

Anyway, the ads for Benson and Hedges featured people's cigarettes not quite fitting in tight places. Elevator doors would close, snipping off the end, doors would close in front of them, crushing them...you get the idea.

This brings me to the saga of furnishing the Sydney apartment. You see, our building is quite small, with only one apartment per floor, so it is rare that more than 2 or 3 people ride the elevator up or down. So, the designers of the building decided to put more square meters in the apartment, and less in the elevator. Essentially, the elevator is the size of a small closet. (even small by Sydney standards, which is a subject for another day) It's something that's not really noticed in day to day life.

However....when it's time to furnish the apartment (which has relatively sizable rooms), it becomes the bane of every delivery man's existence.

So, as I was heating up my American Express card to turbo shop for 'disposable', but passable furniture, I came across a leather sofa and love seat at a really good price. After sitting on nothing but the floor and my inflatable mattress for two weeks, the thought of having a real seating surface was irresistible. When the guy in the furniture store said he could deliver it that day, I was ready to kiss him on his semi toothless mouth!

When the two delivery blokes arrived, they tackled the love seat first. It was then I learned that cheap, leather furniture has the illusion of cushions, but in fact, somehow they make it all in one piece....nothing comes apart. this can be a problem. After squishing the one piece loveseat through the door, into the' lift', and into my living room, it was time to bring up the sofa. Again squishing it through the door, they arrived at the lift and began to load it inside. And here's where the cigarette commercial becomes relevant. It seems that a fully assembled cheap leather sofa with cushions is about a millimeter longer than will fit in my lift. Trying every conceivable angle and orientation, the millimeter continued to triumph.

At this point, one of the guys told the guy who appeared to own the truck to 'Tell the Laydee that we tried but we can't get this in her apawtment'.

So their suggestion was that they drop it in the parking garage, and I could figure out a way to get it to the apartment.

'No that won't work for me. If you can't get it to my apartment, please remove the loveseat, put both of them back in your truck, and arrange for my refund.'

Luckily for me, it was late in the afternoon, and they had a full schedule of deliveries beginning early the next day. And since the next day was Sunday, they couldn't take my stuff back until Monday....no room in the elevator, no room in the truck!

Then I remembered the fire stairs!! By building had 2 sets. After playing the dumb helpless female to the hilt (and dangling a $50 bill in front of them), they agreed to try to hike the sofa up to my 5th floor apartment. While the corners on the fire stairs were tight, 2 hours later, I had a sofa in my apartment!

So, when my queen sized mattress arrived 2 days later, I did not even bat an eye when the mattress missed fitting in the elevator by just this much....

I knew to have a cold bottle of water waiting at the top of the fire stairs....

The globality of government bureaucracies; Getting the VISA:

Government bureaucracies apparently thrive globally.

Clueless to how, maybe, another Gringo in Australia was not what the government wanted, I assumed that my visa approval, which began in late August would be a piece of cake... Afterall, what's not to like?

I breezed through the questionnaire. No communicable diseases, no criminal record, no anti social tendencies (not counting growing up in NY). They told me this could take anywhere from a few days to about 6 weeks. This was in August.

My first clue that I might want to fasten my seatbelt came with a call from the immigration attorneys.

'Where are you?'

'At home in Long Beach.'

'Are you sure?'

'Well I'm sitting here looking out the window, and it seems pretty familiar. Should I be elsewhere?'

'Australian Immigration says that you never left Australia after your house hunting trip'

'Hmmm. Can I send you a picture of me and my dog in Bay TV? Oh no, that might not be a good idea. They may think that I smuggled her into the country...'

'Huh?'

'Never mind, but I swear I'm in Long Beach'

'Is there any way you can prove it?"

'I thought I just tried, but let me think'

So, I sent a picture of my Australian passport departure stamp and records of my subsequent travel from LAX-JFK, LAX-NRT, etc. They finally believed me.

But then, there was health insurance. Australia does not want any aliens to sponge off their national health insurance, so before you can get a visa, you have to show proof in insurance. As expats, we naively thought that we could keep our US insurance (which included international coverage). After going back and forth for a month, we realized this wasn't working and secured Aussie health insurance....makes me wonder ifs the Aussie government owns the insurance companies...

Ok, so now it seemed to be clear sailing, until they decided I needed one more hurdle.

My parents decided to name me Cynthia. I was never called by that name in my life, so after a while, I began dropping it. From my driver's license. From my business relationships.

Oh, but it created an international incident when my employment agreement for Australia said 'Cindy' and my passport said 'Cynthia'. Oh yes, I suddenly found myself in the company of famous name changes such as Cassius Clay to Mohammed Ali, Norma Jean Baker to Marilyn Monroe, Bernie Schwartz to Tony Curtis....yes, as extreme as Cynthia Scott to Cindy Scott.

Several emails a birth certificate in the name Cynthia, and an affidavit that I hadn't nor had I intended to change my name later, this HUGE discrepancy was finally resolved. (Please don't tell anyone that my social security card, my driver's license, and my marriage license say Cindy).

So, in mid October, I finally have my Visa!!! I think this means I can now get a phone contract!

Mateship

I have been reading a book that my friend, Ruth gave me on moving to Sydney as an expat. In the introduction, it describes how Australia's history and culture has influenced society. The book emphasizes the importance of 'mateship'...looking out for your buddies, neighbors, etc. It is borne of the combination of the inhospitable land and the convict origins.

As I read about this, I remembered my first day in Sydney, and had to smile....

I had it all planned...

I checked 3 pieces of luggage...a suitcase with alot of clothing, a duffel with a blow up bed and bedding, and a bike bag with my bike and accessories....

I also had arranged for delivery of a fridge and washer to the apartment that morning.

God, I felt smart....UNTIL two minor things got in the way

• My flight was delayed out of LAX. Would I make it in time for the delivery?
• My 'budget 'bike carrier had wheels, yes. But they did not turn!

So, arriving a couple of hours late, I went to the oversized luggage area to claim my stuff. the wait was quite long. I got a cart and thought this would be a piece of cake.

After waiting way too long for my luggage, I realized that my appliance delivery was in danger of arriving without me. I called the appliance company. The delivery guys were at my door--could we reschedule? NO! I needed a fridge today.

Desperate for someone to receive the delivery, I tried to call my rental agent, but the number didn't work. I tried my landlord, same thing. Apparently, I did not have the knack of dialing Aussie numbers. Panicked, I called the appliance company back (why I could reach them, I don't know). Can you please call this number (my landlord) for me and see if he can meet you? Of course we can.

Meanwhile, all my luggage shows up. My cart suddenly seems hopelessly inadequate. I pile all the bags except the bike on. I go three feet. The cart goes one way, the bike the other. Neither is going in the direction I am looking to go. I pile the bike on the top of the cart. NOW I figured it out.

That is, until the entire pile topples over--on me. We all tumble simultaneously! A lovely man who works at the airport comes to the rescue! He takes my cart, my wayward bike, and me and escorts me through the customs line and out to the curb. He won't accept a tip!

I arrive at my apartment with the fridge connected and cold. The washer hooked up and ready to go! Thanks to the appliance dispatcher, my landlord was there to let them in. My taxi driver schlepps my stuff upstairs.

I sleep well on my blow up bed and crack open a cold diet coke the next morning.

MATESHIP. It works! If you don't think so, write this story, but set it in NY.

Getting Connected..part 1

'Can I help you?'

'Yes, I'd like an iPhone.'

'Great, do you have a contract with us?'

'No, I just moved here from the states, but I really need to get connected, I'm racking up the charges on my US phone'

'Oh, I see, I'll need a copy of your visa'

'It's being processed'

'Well, then, You can get a prepaid phone. I have one on special for $59.99. I can't give you a contract until you have a visa'

'But I am renting an apartment here. I have a two year lease. Believe me, the commitment is bigger than a wireless contract, and I was allowed to do that. What can I do to get my iPhone?'

'Do you have a visa?'

'Not yet, but I have a copy of my employment agreement. As you can see, I think my compensation allows me to afford a mobile phone, even a plan with more than minimal minutes.'

'I see, do you have a visa?'

'Yes, a platinum one. And a Platinum American Express. I can prepay the entire contract on either of these cards, now my I please get an iphone?'

'When are you expecting your visa to be finalized?'

'After I need to make some important calls that will allow me to arrange for furniture delivery for the apartment that I am renting. They cannot deliver without a local number.'

'We have this nice prepaid deal. $59.99 for the phone, $30.00 to load it up.'

'How do I activate it?'

'Well, you can go onto our website and do it.'

'Ahh....can you help me with my home internet connection?'

'Yes, it should take about 10 days to activate.'

'What do I do in the meantime?'

'Didn't you say you had a US iPhone?'

To Quote Phil Collins...'It's no fun being an illegal alien'

Becoming an Ex-Pat

So, until not to long ago, I would have told you that an expat is someone who, sometime during their life, decided they liked going by the name Tricia....

But, at this advanced stage in my life, here I am, a first time expat, moving to Sydney Australia. Amazing Oz. And I have to say, for the most part it is living up to expectations. What an adventure.

Been here two weeks, and it's amazing all the things I took for granted living in my insular world that just aren't granted...particularly being who I am at the moment...an illegal alien. Hopefully my visa will clear soon, and I can at least be legit, and not sweat when I see a traffic cop.

In the meantime, the first two weeks have been jam packed. Learning to drive on the 'wrong' side of the road from the 'wrong' side of the car. No fatalities... need to replace my wiper blades, perhaps grazed a few pedestrian toes near the curb on the left side, but really, who needs all their toes? And the rear view mirror? Please, over rated.

Can't for the life of me remember my phone number, as it does not have 7 digits, and that's the way my brain is wired.

And then, there's getting connected....that deserves a few separate entries.