It’s officially been two months of living on the opposite side of the world, which feels both impossible and completely normal at the same time.
Some things have become really familiar really quickly. I’m sad to report that the plants and wildlife that absolutely blew me away during those first few weeks have now become part of the scenery. They’re still beautiful, obviously, but I’m no longer stopping to photograph every flower I see. I’m mostly just sneezing at them now. My allergies are having a wonderful time.
Other things are still messing with my brain.
I was watching a movie on Netflix the other day and suddenly panicked because they were driving on the wrong side of the road. Except they were actually driving on the right side of the road. It was just no longer the right side to me.
There are also countless cute little things that make me smile because they feel so distinctly different from home.
We were at a birthday party for one of Archer’s mates recently, and after everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” the whole group broke into “Hip, hip, hooray!” three times.
And I loved it.
It’s such a tiny thing, but it was one of those moments where I thought, Oh. This is different.
We’ve heard it a few more times since then, usually at birthdays or celebrations, and I get a little kick out of it every time. There’s something about an entire room enthusiastically shouting “Hip, hip, hooray!” that feels wonderfully old-fashioned and, somehow, very Australian.
Even though, obviously, the phrase itself isn’t uniquely Australian.
Still, when you’ve spent your whole life celebrating birthdays one way and suddenly find yourself surrounded by people doing it another way, the little differences start to stick with you.
So apparently two months is all it takes to completely rewire your brain.
Before I get into all of that, though, I have to tell you about the most amazing thing that happened because, frankly, I’m still riding the high.
We had a repairman come out to work on our sprinkler system, and he spent several minutes talking to Jordan and me. He had been chatting with Jordan first, heard his American accent, and even commented on it. Then I chimed in with something about where we were from.
He looked at me and said something along the lines of, “You’re American?”
Genuinely surprised.
I nearly cried.
Not in the polite, “G’day, I assume you’re Australian until you open your mouth” kind of way. No. This man had been talking to us for minutes. He had heard Jordan’s American accent, had heard me speaking, and had somehow decided I was Australian.
This is a very big deal in my world because it’s a running joke at Land + See that I am apparently incapable of passing for anything other than American. I’m constantly greeted in English while everyone around me is being greeted in the local language. I’ve even been told I have a very American face. Maybe it’s the lipstick. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m permanently smiling. Whatever it is, nobody has ever even come close to mistaking me for a local.
Until last week.
I guess Australians and Americans really don’t look all that different on the surface. Although, admittedly, the wild haircuts and sun-kissed skin are starting to give the Aussies away.
Speaking of wild haircuts…
Roman got one.
It is, without exaggeration, the human haircut equivalent of an El Camino.
Lots of wild bangs in the front, very trimmed and short on the sides, and a long, flowing mane in the back.
I hate it.
I think that’s probably part of the charm.
He is absolutely in love with his unequivocally Aussie haircut and is already talking about getting a low-taper fade on the sides next time. As much as it’s taking some getting used to, his mates all think it’s legendary, and at this age, that’s worth it’s weight in gold as far as he’s concerned.
The boys don’t have cute Aussie accents yet, but they are definitely picking up the lingo. Candy is lollies. Anything that keeps you warm is a jumper, or “jump-ah.” Kindergarten is kindy.
And my least favorite of all: “Try this. It’ll blow your dick off.”
All it took was someone saying it once, and now it’s basically become family legend.
Is it crude? Insanely.
But we can’t help laughing that this is an actual saying, and the mom in me has decided to let it slide because, honestly, it’s just too ridiculous not to.
The boys are currently enjoying their two-week break between Term 3 and Term 4. School here operates more like a year-long schedule, with four terms and two-week breaks in between, followed by a really long summer break through December and January. I’m already very much on board with the concept of a month-and-a-half-long summer holiday that also coincides with Christmas and New Years.
They’ve both also started new extracurricular activities, which has been fun to watch.
Archer joined a floorball team, which is basically hockey’s weird indoor cousin. It’s fast and fun, but considerably less rough around the edges. He absolutely loves it, despite still having a lot to learn.
Roman is trying his hand at surf lifesaving, which is kind of like Baywatch meets a pool lifeguard meets Boy Scouts.
He’s halfway through an online course now, and next week he starts his actual in-the-water training before getting his Surf Rescue Certification.
I’m trying very hard not to freak out about sharks.
I keep reminding myself that surf lifesavers are the people who actually spot the sharks and warn everyone else, so he’ll be in good hands. But it’s a little harder to reassure yourself when you’ve literally watched local sharks show up to feast on a dead whale that washed ashore.
It hits a little differently than reading about shark activity in an article, that’s for sure.
The boys have also started getting a little more invested in the local sports scene, which has been especially fun for Archer. Our local footy team, the Fremantle Dockers, made it to the finals, and Archer was ALL IN.
For most of the game, Freo absolutely dominated. We were feeling pretty good. Maybe too good.
Then came “Wharfie Time.”
I still don’t fully understand it, but apparently it’s some sort of mythical Fremantle fan war cry that is supposed to rally everyone, summon the collective power of the Wharfies, and generally pump the team up.
Except this time, it appears to have summoned the wrong thing.
Almost immediately after “Wharfie Time,” the Lions scored three goals back-to-back.
Three.
In a row.
The entire energy of the game flipped, and poor Archer watched his beloved Dockers go from looking like they had this thing in the bag to watching the whole thing unravel.
His little heart broke into approximately one million pieces.
He still gets excited anytime someone mentions Freo, but he carries himself a little heavier these days.
Welcome to Australian sport, buddy.
It’s character building.
It’s also spring here, and everything is blooming like crazy. I’m trying to enjoy the mild weather before proper summer hits because I have a feeling I’m going to be wishing for spring again very soon.
Homes here aren’t insulated in quite the same way as they are back home, and there are literal gaps under some doors and between panes of glass. Add in the cost of electricity and I’m not sure running the air conditioning nonstop the way we might at home is going to be either practical or affordable.
So I’m soaking up the cool mornings while I can.
Although spring comes with its own little Australian surprise: Magpie Swooping Season.
I haven’t personally been swooped yet, but I’m told it’s only a matter of time. I’ve been advised not to make eye contact, to invest in some good eye protection, and apparently a helmet with a fake mohawk is also a reasonable precaution.
I thought the whole thing was kind of funny until I started looking at the reports of actual injuries.
People have had their heads and eyes attacked and ended up in the hospital. Known nesting areas around town are roped off, and there’s even an app that shows where swoopings have been reported. There’s even a magpie pair nesting in a tree next to the Canteen at Archer’s school.
So I’m taking the magpies a little more seriously now.
Another thing I’ve really come to love is how much beach culture is just part of everyday life here. People park their camper vans at the beach, cook outside, sit in the backs of their trucks, surf, swim, hang out, and watch these ridiculous sunsets like it’s no big deal.
It’s also pretty obvious that nobody is particularly concerned about changing clothes in public.
I have lost count of the number of butts and other assorted body parts I’ve seen dangling out of cars in beach parking lots. People just get changed and go about their day.
No one seems to care.
And honestly, I kind of love the lack of fuss about it.
There are also all these little reminders of Australia’s British history woven into everyday life. Break rooms are called “tea rooms.” There are street names like Liege and Empire. We recently celebrated the King’s Birthday, which still makes me laugh because when we first got here I had a brief moment of, “Wait… Australia has a king?”
And then, duh. King Charles.
The funny part is that the King’s Birthday isn’t even celebrated on the same day throughout Australia. Different states celebrate it on different days. I’m not entirely sure which one, if any, is actually his birthday, but we got a day off school and work and enjoyed a lovely day of leisure, so thank you, Chucky-boy. Happy birthday.
One of the other British holdovers is the word “concession,” which basically means a discounted rate. Children’s train and ferry tickets, for example, are concession tickets.
Jordan apparently did not receive this memo.
He was invited to the movies recently and bought one adult ticket and one concession ticket, hoping to get popcorn and a drink with the concession ticket.
You can imagine the worker’s confusion when Jordan walked up to the snack counter and tried to use his concession ticket to buy popcorn.
They apparently stood there looking at each other for an awkward amount of time, each waiting for the other person to realize what was happening.
Eventually they figured it out.
No popcorn was acquired.
Two months in, I think that’s probably the best way to describe life here. We’re learning all of these tiny things that you would never think twice about until you actually live somewhere different.
I’m learning the roads, the seasons, the slang, all the other crucial things an American-passing-for-an-Australian needs to know.
The boys are learning the lingo and the ‘sport’, Roman is apparently determined to make the El Camino haircut happen, and I’m learning to look up before walking underneath a magpie nest.
We’re still very much the Americans who moved to Australia, but little by little, Australia is starting to feel less like somewhere we moved to and more like somewhere we live.
And honestly, that feels pretty good.
Hip, hip, hooray.