My Return to Oz

October 2012

When I was 22 years old, I arrived in Melbourne with everything I would need for a year, an excitement and freedom I had never felt before, and an open mind. Though I only spent 10 months on Australian soil, the experience changed me in profound and important ways. It would be untrue to say that I ‘grew up’, because how can one grow up in 10 months. I did, however, try things I have never tried before, and go exploring at the end of the earth, the place where the dragons live and the waters fall into space. And the fresh air and smell of Eucalypt have stayed with me for nearly 7 years.

I have taken the opportunity while living temporarily in Singapore to devote energy and money to returning to Australia for 12 days, even though the sensible thing to do would be to explore the ‘new’ region of Southeast Asia rather than go back to a place I have been before. Yet the need to return to Oz has been in the back of my mind for years, ever since I left. I wanted to see this place with a fresh set of eyes, older, having travelled and lived abroad other places. I wanted to see if the waves of Australia would wash over me in the same ways, or differently. I wanted to revisit old streets and pass old trees, and see the dear friends I made in such a short time, many of whom I have stayed in touch with and reconnected with around the world. And, pragmatically, I wanted to do something I never got a chance to do when I lived in Melbourne: drive, on my own, from Sydney to Melbourne, around Australia’s highest mountain, Kozsiousko (over 7,200 feet and still snow covered in late Spring). I did travel around Victoria and took myself out to Broome, Western Australia in 2005/2006, but never really immersed myself in the bush on a long road trip – a quintessentially Australian adventure. In doing so, I am hoping to come full circle, to use a cliché, and finish my Australian chapter, as it were. At least for now. For me, this is something of a spiritual journey mixed with simple good times with friends, the perfect way to end my 30^th year as I approach my thirtieth birthday. I began my 20s with Australia, and, so, I will end with it.

The context is certainly different. When I was 22 and fresh out of Cornell, I was a nervously closeted, hard drinking evolving fraternity boy with no plan for the next 3 years, let alone my life. I didn’t know if I would stay in Australia for one year or thirty. I didn’t know if I would ever go back to school. I had never really dated properly and though I desperately wanted to, I was not yet equipped with the mental tools to do so. I was who I am now, but only in an earlier mould, not yet fully shaped. I had long curly hair.

I am still not fully shaped by any means. Here I am, still a student, perhaps once expected to have bought and sold a house by this time (by my younger self). To have it all figured out. To have gone to the moon.

But I have gone many places. I have learned a great deal. There is much more I want and need to accomplish in life, professionally, socially, personally, but I have progressed a great deal. I have made mistakes and have some regrets, but equally accept that these mistakes have made me smarter, sharper and more careful. I have not lost my love of life and a good time. I am still not afraid to let my hair down, even though I keep it shorter now. I am who I have always been, and I know myself. In all these things, I am extremely lucky and grateful. Were I more religious, I would say blessed. And I think I still can.

Now I have a (relatively) clear plan. The PhD is a map for 2 years. Then it becomes hazier, but I know for certain that going back to school is no longer a fork in the road. I also know that putting on a suit everyday and not being surrounded by intellectuals is also a ‘closed road.’ Whether I go into the hard, political world of Academia or remain in policy and research circles, the road is still becoming narrower, clearer, and better paved. I may not know how many miles there are until my destination, but at least I know I have one, and that I am heading toward it.

I know that I am only in Australia for 12 days. 8, in fact, as of this journal writing. This is different. I am a visitor, a tourist. I will not be a resident; will not be looking for a house or signing tax papers. There is comfort in this, but also a tinge of sadness. This land does have, as expressed in Australian art, film, and literature, a mythical, surreal, dreamlike pull. This land lulls one into a happy oblivion, if a perilous one. And already, it has cast its spell.

Australia, like myself, is different. Older now. And having gone through a remarkable economic change; it was booming in 2005-2006, but then, everywhere was. I felt Australian values imbued in everyday life: a fair deal, progressive policies, high standard of living, ‘tall poppy’ mind set. An ability to be successful and savvy without being ostentatious or callous. I fear that this, the ‘soul’ of the nation, has changed with its new wealth. Australia never got hit as hard as the West during the gut wrenching economic strife of 2008-2011. A supplier of what China needs, it has boomed as China has. Wealth, almost unimaginable wealth, has been created by a tiny elite that combines flashy, in your face living with far-right attitudes (country dwellers suddenly billionaires). One, the richest woman in the world, uses her wealth to buy air time to voice her concerns, among which is the fact that Australians are not as willing to work for low wages as Africans. Another, a man, is building his own full scale replica of the Titanic. This is ominous, always foreboding some turn for the worse, and is not the Australia I know.

**

Sydney

There is no greater modern day city rivalry than Sydney and Melbourne. The old rivalries of yore – Paris and London, Rome and Milan, New York and Chicago, et al., no longer have the fight they once had. Cities are increasingly ordered into clean divides of perceived influence and power, and regional and national rivalries have turned into the global cities system of ‘Alpha,’ ‘Beta,’ ‘Gamma,’ and so on. Cities are increasingly specialized and play different roles, complementing one another. They are also more linked than ever before, so rivalries are healthy, like two team mates both vying for the ball. They are not the Victorian duels and inflammatory rhetoric they once were, that even inspired Wars and violence.

Except for Sydney and Melbourne. The two cities will never go to war with one another, but they maintain a ferociously loyal following and there is a stark divide between them. Sydney: the glittering, glamorous, wealthy, beach queen; the tacky, shiny, superficial Saturday night. The muscled body and perfect hair; the water view and adrenalin. Sydney loves to talk about everything and yet nothing; it is like a pop culture feed and a constant reality TV show. It is remarkably beautiful. It is seductive. Cruel.

Melbourne is the Victorian aunt with the black clothes and cup of coffee. She is dry and sarcastic and reads books. There is something both blue blood and working class about her; she at once evokes the London literati and the Greek country village. When she dresses up, she looks gorgeous, but is equally happy to walk around in jeans and a drab, dour blouse. Look closely. Her boots are Italian and very expensive.

**

I landed in Sydney with an open mind, having spent nearly a year with Melbournians (and after, even more time) calling it trashy, vapid, overexpensive, and boring.

I went to Sydney before, for a few days, and wrote about it. Many of my observations then, in 2006, struck me again this time: it immediately feels like a ‘big’ city; a global city, a cosmopolitan and ‘important’ city. Melbourne can, at times, but largely feels like a sleepier, more regional place.

Sydney is corporate and seems to drip money, now much more so even than 2006. Luxury cars and luxury people give a sense of well being that is not even apparent in London anymore. Sydney is by some measures in the very, very, very highest echelon of most expensive cities on earth, vying for the top spot with places like (Singapore), Hong Kong, and in some ways, outdoing London.

Yet, it is, without a doubt, a most spectacular city. Maybe the most beautiful waterfront city of all time. The parks, the Harbour, the Opera House; the fine homes on the hills; the way that the beach (as a public space, as a park itself) is woven into everyday urban fabric and everyday life. The beach is for everyone. The green hues of the sea; the air. The blooming Jacaranda trees. The beautiful people. This is Los Angeles without the problems; this is San Francisco with more size and depth.

Sydney ‘feels’ like both a Georgian and a 20^th Century city, but not a Victorian one. This reflects its boom years: it was the first, and largest city in Australia from 1788 until the 1850s, with many fine sandstone Georgian buildings. The next architecture that really stands out is Art Deco of the 1920s-1930s, and the kind of early 20^th century buildings found in New York (red brick). You don’t see that in Melbourne as much… in fact, the art deco assemblage in Sydney is spectacular – even the Harbour Bridge. I am surprised not to hear Sydney mentioned more as one of the great Art Deco cities, alongside New York, Miami, London, and Los Angeles.

Sydney is also, as I noticed years ago, vapid and superficial. I know that there is a Sydney of wire rim glasses and philosophical chats, but I think that the sheer expense of the place, combined with the beauty and bacchanal culture, makes it a hard place for those people to live. I have not yet encountered a Sydneysider that I would consider to be alternative, or outside of the mainstream. Perhaps I just don’t have an ‘in’ to that subgroup

The conversations seem to revolve about pop culture and the whole host of nothingness. My friend’s flatmate boasts of being a very good writer, both of prose and of songs; an excellent singer; in fabulous shape, and working on the “advanced stages” of a screen play. He seems to know all of the top-40 radio hits, and is a travel agent who doubles as a phone-answerer at a pizza store. He lives in a flashy condominium with a rooftop sauna and pool. Thus is the life of a Sydneysider.

The life is seductive – I know that I, too, would be drawn into extreme gym routines and the general Sydney attitude. But I fear that I would be sacrificing other things. Is it worth it, for such a beautiful life, full of avocado, sun tan lotion, and blue skies? Perhaps the penultimate question for those who choose West Los Angeles or Miami over Montreal and Vienna. What is important?

The most worrying thing, though, seems to be the social relations – in Sydney there just isn’t the social milleu and patchwork of socially connected urban spaces that there are in Melbourne or London. People are very individualistic in their workout routines and high salaries; it would probably be a very nice place to be in a relationship, but hard with either a family or a single life. How can anyone build a meaningful relationship while maintaining 5% bodyfat?

If Sydney weren’t so far, and I hypothetically were considering coming back to Australia to live, could I become a Sydneysider? I think there are too many wonderful things about the city to say no. With money, and a good routine, one can live an almost ideal life, jogging in the gardens, kayaking in the Harbour, smelling the sea saline. I would have to be ready, though, to ‘give in’ and not fight the superficiality, a difficult ask.

I think everyone has a Sydneysider in them, and a Melbournian. After all, what is life without a vapid, wonderfully careless day at the beach. Likewise, how empty would life be without the occasional existential moment at a dark, back alley café.

The Australian Capital Territory (Canberra)

It was great fun to spend time with friends and take in the perfect weather and beaches in Sydney. But the real excitement for me was the prospect of my 3 day drive to Canberra, then over the Snowy Mountains and the Victorian / New South Wales backcountry, to Melbourne.

I left Sydney and after the sprawling suburbs, found myself climbing into green, crisp, fragrant hills. They must be brown and windblown in Summer and fall (bushfire season), but in Spring they are verdant and beautiful, evoking both the Appalachian country and the English countryside. It is simply amazing how de-peopled Australia becomes within miles of leaving a city. The cities are full and developed; the countryside simply isn’t. It may never be, which is the wonderful thing: people move to cities to build their lives, not the country. The farm life or the booming small town is a thing of the past, except for the mining areas, resort areas, cute retirement villages, and the very rich with their ‘play’ farms and ranches. Thus, the Australian outback may always remain an Outback of red sunsets and vistas of gum trees. That is, if it isn’t all dug up and sent to China on boats.

I passed at least 3 dead Kangaroos along the way, and lots of other dead and run over things. Some people probably think you only experience Australian wildlife in zoos. Australian wildlife is everywhere, even in the cities. The birds and bats in Sydney reminded me of prehistoric creatures, as they did in Melbourne when I first arrived there.

After lunch in Goulburn (the ‘oldest inland town’, apparently) which at 25,000 people, is larger than most inland towns, I headed down a dry lake bed to Canberra, the unique, modern planned capital.

There are few examples of purely post-war planned cities in the World, aside from Brasilia (which must feel and operate like a vastly bigger Canberra) and the British new towns (Milton Keynes, in particular). China and the other new boomlands are building new towns and new cities, but none have Canberra’s particular mix of prairie planning idyll, scale, and setting.

I say ‘prairie’, because Canberra (began, anyway) as the brainchild of Walter Burnley Griffin, the American protégé of Frank Lloyd Wright and a proponent of axial planning, with views along linear and monumental water and landscape planes. Canberra involved an artificial butterfly-shaped lake, much open space and parkland, and circular, wavy streets. There was careful separation of Federal Government, commercial, retail, and residential areas. Though Canberra strayed far from Griffin’s plan, it is heavily influenced by in, and maintains the axial vistas and segregation of use.

I haven’t yet made a verdict on Canberra. It is, like suburban Singapore, (and perhaps any modern landscape), hard to get around and find ones way. Without a clear vista there is no way to orient oneself in a sea of identical buildings and streets. It can be disorientating and frustrating, and also, on a Sunday evening, devoid of people.

That said, it is a gorgeous natural setting – a crisp, clean plateau with glittering Eucalypt leaves and no humidity. The lake and parkland are attractive and conducive to cycling and running. The urban spaces seem functional, if ordinary and boxy. I am a fan of modernist and brutalist architecture and urban form for its pure functionality and pragmatism. Yet it lacks a certain human element and color. I can see Canberra being a very bleak place at times, and I understand why those who study at Australian National University, the finest in Australia, very rarely stay. I also understand why the official residence of the Prime Minister moved to Sydney a decade ago. Canberra is isolated and somewhat aloof from even Sydney, if even more so the rest of the world.

But like any international capital and university town, which Canberra is, there is a sense of internationalism that is out-sized. Korean churches and fine-looking restauraunts; attractive people and many cultural centres. Nice houses and a certain cosmopolitan ‘buzz’ (that would certainly be lacking from a normal city of 500,000 more than 3 hours from any other large city).

I will explore more tomorrow and am excited to see some of the Federal Temples, such as the National Gallery. This is an intriguing city and worth seeing. It is so young that it will be interesting to see Canberra in 10, 20 years… as it matures and diversifies. It will change more than Sydney or Melbourne, and has the potential to be a truly interesting place as it finds itself. As Australia continues to grow into one of the leading countries of the world, Canberra will become increasingly important and visible. The question will be whether it continues to be unique in its planning and development, a true garden city, a city of avenues and axis, or if it will over time morph into a ‘normal’ city. Time, and planning, will tell.

Tomorrow: Canberra to Cooma, Jindabyn and then the Perisher Valley, over the Snowies, and descending to Khancoban.

**

Wednesday, 31 October (Halloween)

From Singapore

The Snowy Mountains and Melbourne

Reflecting back upon the latter half of my Australia return, I am unable and unwilling to write a lengthy recap of the events. Highlights included one of the most beautiful drive I’ve ever undertaken, through the dry Southern Highland plateau and then over the Snowy Mountains to the Murray River Valley. Along the way, I reached snow-capped heights, descended into green valleys full of kangaroos, emus, echidnas and dingoes, drove through strange and surreal country towns, and even blew a tire on the Hume highway, some miles north of Melbourne. I saw the Snowy Scheme, one of man’s great triumphs (or rapes) over nature but a crucial feat nonetheless, engineering the distribution of alpine water to quench the thirst of a dry nation. I drove through glistening eucalypt forests and cold, crisp air; past lakes and fields.

In Melbourne, I retraced the steps and chased the shadows of my 22 year old self, down laneways and through gardens. I saw old friends and colleagues and remembered all reasons why I fell in love with Melbourne. I also remembered why I left.

In an odd way, my 2 weeks in Australia was like a mini-version of my entire year there: I arrived, fell into dreamland, and then felt those pangs of remoteness, isolation and insularity by the last few days (that I felt in my last few months). It is hard to explain to someone not familiar with the Antipodes: even though the landscapes are gorgeous, the conversations familiar and the streetscapes vaguely European, there is a constant consciousness of distance, of being removed from the heart of the world.

To ‘be’ in Australia; to give oneself over to it completely, one has to be willing and able to start fresh completely; to cut off old attachments and sever roots. This worked for convicts, adventurers, fortune seekers and jackaroos; for refugees from war-torn lands and survivors from distant traumas. It is a land of start-freshers, planting new gardens and digging new foundations.

I think there are two groups of those who migrate to Australia. The first are the above – those seeking the garden at the end of the world, the place where the waters fall into nothing. They arrive and live a life that perhaps would not be possible from whence they came, either that or they are able to tell themselves so. The second group, however, are never able to feel at home here at 37 degrees South Latitude. Many within this group eventually leave: as I did, after only 10 months, or after some years, even decades. They constantly yearn to re-connect with their past, with their roots, with the main thoroughfares of our world. If they stay in Australia, they spend their days reminiscing, in Anglo or Europhilia, romanticising being other places.

I know now that I would never feel completely at home in Australia. There are too many people, too many places embedded within me to ever ‘rest’ on an island so many miles away. It took perhaps a second visit to establish this fact, though I think I knew this even those years ago. My homesickness at age 22-23 sunk in only weeks after arriving, and I never for a moment seriously contemplated giving it all up and starting a life down under. Even though I could have, and what a life it would have been.

The scenery, the food; the lifestyle. Sublime in many ways, carefree, simple. European quality; migrants carried with them the best aspects of the old world and none of the worst. Flowers. Sunny skies and smiles.

Before I get carried away, I must end with a caveat: even in Melbourne, I noticed some of the same changes I felt in Sydney. A worrisome insularity, attitude, wealth and aloof-ness that I did not sense 7 years ago and that I think will corrode Australian society if not addressed. This is not pervasive nor obvious, but just below the surface is the sure-fire confidence of a society that has gotten too comfortable with economic boom and resource-riches; a cockiness that did not serve America or Britain well before they fell into decline.

Australia will change; it will grow. It cannot remain always a frontier, a land of untouched red earth and mysteries. As it does so, though, I only hope it remembers who and what it is and came from, its humility, its dreamtime, its ability to be rough around the edges and imperfect. Its warmth and kindness and its sense of adventure and reason.

There is something mad about Australia and this is a wonderful thing. I like the whimsical, dreamy madness of Baz Luhrmann and Peter Weir, of Michael Leunig and Dame Edna. I fear, however, that the madness of Gina Rinehart and Tony Abott are a new direction and their version of Australia would be a far less wonderful place.

**

Melbourne

Melbourne appears on the horizon like the Emerald City, its towers hovering faintly over rolling pastures of sheep and cattle. It sprawls. Some 50km in all directions (except the Bay). Having eschewed a GPS device and only vaguely remembering how to navigate the inner city by car, I decided to follow the old Sydney Road tram into town, which slowly led me, through rambling suburban zones and older Victorian districts, to the Thrifty depot to return my car. The angst over my blown tire aside, I was suddenly right back where I started, at the corner of Elizabeth Street and Latrobe Street, facing the office where I reported for work that August morning, 2005. And for a second, I felt like I was back there, arriving on my morning train.

When I got to Melbourne in 2005, it was the first major city I had ever lived in, and I had no real frame of reference. Since then, I have lived and spent time in New York and London and many other cities of various shapes and sizes.

So coming back to Melbourne, I noticed things with a new set of eyes. For one, the city has an unmatched Victorian fabric. With a population of some 600,000 people in 1900, it nearly matched the great British Victorian cities in size (Manchester, Glasgow, Birmingham). Unlike them, however, Melbourne never dealt with the Blitz or British-style urban renewal. Likewise with the great Victorian American cities (San Francisco, Chicago, St Louis for example). Melbourne never suffered an earthquake like San Francisco or the white flight of St Louis. British and American cities were chopped up and emptied from the 1940s to the 1990s. Australian cities weren’t untouched, but largely retained much of their Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian, and Art Deco urban fabric.

The result is that Melbourne is a Victorian and Edwardian showcase, possibly the best preserved example anywhere. The grandness and elegance of the fine buildings on Parliament Square, on Collins Street or even in peripheral suburbs matches anywhere in the world.  So too with the trams, which for ever reason were  never replaced with buses. The trams add to the historic feel of the city and must always be cherished, even if they are trundling, traffic inducing and rather inefficient.

Melbourne is also, compared to New York and London, extraordinarily vibrant in a holistic sense. The city centre pulses, yes, but so do all of the inner-ring neighbourhoods, on both sides of the river. Brunswick and Fitzroy, Carlton and St Kilda, South Yarra and South Melbourne. Here too Melbourne differs from North American cities and even many European cities, which have areas of dead zones and ‘no go’ zones. London has such large areas of council housing and industrial spaces and likewise in New York. It seems possible, in any Melbourne neighbourhood, to get a fine coffee, meal and film.

My concern for Melbourne is that it rests too much on its past. It was marvellous and it remains Marvelous, beautiful, livable and full of life. But with population growth, it is noticeably bursting at the seams. It cannot rely on Victorian infrastructure and a few new freeways. A comprehensive growth strategy seems to have been abandoned (constantly re thought and revised). Land for new housing isn’t enough; there must be new trains, an underground, bus lines, and other investment. In a country and city as prosperous, it seems foolish not to spend on infrastructure. Even debt ridden and recession-addled American cities are building new light rail and other mass transit lines, even in places like Houston and Charlotte. New York is building a new subway line, and London is awash with new rail infrastructure. Melbourne must follow suit, or it will lose it livability.

And on that note, a final thought: it has become prohibitively expensive! New York and London are less livable because they are inordinately expensive places to live. Melbourne must find ways to make itself affordable both to visitors and residents or it will become (like Singapore or Hong Kong), an Antipodean Switzerland, sterile and untouchable except by (and for) the wealthy. I fear this is already underway, with the poor being pushed to the periphery, a trend evident in other areas of the developed world. Affordable housing must be provided within easy access to the city and jobs and on key transit nodes and I did not see evidence that this is occurring.

But marvellous it is, a very lucky place indeed. Were it closer, I would move back. But were it closer, would it be so wonderful? I will leave on this final thought.