Next week it'll be exactly a year since we packed up our life and shipped out of London to Melbourne with our two kids in tow. I've got loads of thoughts swirling around my head as we approach the anniversary of swapping day for night, flat sentence endings for ones that go up at the end (why is everything a question tho??) and a crappy gnats piss morning brew for far superior coffee on every street corner. Here are a few of those thoughts:
Time moves slower in Melbourne. This one has probably been the most profound observation. After 44 years in London I was used to running around at a hundred miles an hour, constantly fighting time to get everything done and arrive at the places I needed to be before I was late/missed out/pissed someone off; an ever-present bead of sweat on my brow and the feeling that time was racing as fast as my heart usually was. I could often taste the cortisol running around my body it was so strong. You need that level of adrenalin to get half of what you needed to do, done in London.
Here, it's just a much slower pace of life. Nothing is that hard to get to. Parking is free and abundant. No one else is rushing, so there's a shared sense of calm. Obviously I'm generalising, but the 'rat race' feeling I had in London doesn't feel as profound here. Modern life is so crammed full of STUFF and THINGS; a never ending to-do list, so being in a place that helps all those things flow easier makes everything far less frenetic. The only exception is the driving. I know I've mentioned this before, but jeez...Nothing slow about that. Everyone drives like lunatics in Melbourne. I guess it's the thrill of the open inner-city roads versus sitting in standstill traffic just to get to the corner shop in London.
People are very friendly here versus home. Weirdly so. Growing up in London it's totally normal to call up someone whose job it is to help you, and them pretty much tell you to fuck off and then hang up on you for daring to call. Getting the silent treatment or cold shoulder from shop workers, restaurant staff and even from fellow commuters was so normal that when I moved here and people started brazenly being not only friendly to me but genuinely NICE I completely panicked. What do they WANT? Are they on DRUGS? Is this sudden interest in me all just a ruse to get me to reveal my bank account details...?? My London-trained brain defaults to suspicion a hell of a lot more than I realised.
It's been quite hard to get my head around the general ease in which people chat to one another here. I'm a head-down-don't-make-eye-contact kinda person. But I think I've become - dare I say it - positively CHATTY. It's brilliant when you're new to a place to find out that everyone is so open and friendly. My stone-cold London heart is softening I think. I actually chat to strangers now. I've found out about whole fascinating and colourful lives and stories. And guess what? - Here, call centre staff actually call you back if you don't get through the first time. I KNOW. Bonkers! One lovely Medicare call worker even rang me on her day off to check my request had gone through as she knew how important it was for me and the kids to get set up with a Medicare card. I'd still be on hold if I'd called in London one year later. I don't blame Londoners for our grumpy, gruffness. When you've endured Austerity and Boris and Brexit and yet more Austerity and Underfunded Basic Human Rights and Matt Hancock, that kinda stops the flow of smiles and openness to finding joy with others, somewhat.
(NB: This 'Niceness' does not extend to when Melbournians are driving. I'm still noting that everyone is an arsehole the minute they get behind a wheel. It's insane how many car crashes there are too. An old lady smashed into a parked car outside my house recently and as I was pulling her out of the mangled wreckage, the neighbours all came out and said, matter of factly;' Sheesh. Not another one....We've had so many crashes outside we barely come out to check anymore...')
Making brand new friends at 45 years old is hard. It's quite lonely and at times excruciating nerve-racking plonking yourself into friendship groups that have, in many cases, been forged and fine tuned over decades. You won't get the 'in jokes' about Susan's ex, so will be the only one not laughing when his name is mentioned over drinks. Or know about the scandal that rocked the school when Mr Williams did that 'thing.' Or understand the intricate nuances of chat and friendship group code that often goes hand in hand when women get together. Add in over forty years worth of different points of reference and the fact I don't know any current or past Aussie celebs, sports people or teams, (wtf even are the rules for that whole Aussie Rules football thing??) or politicians or bands, then I'm playing catch-up quite a lot.
But it's been amazing to be pulled in to the bossomy warmth of quite a few lovely friendship groups. No one laughs when I asked what the hell Auskick is. (It's Aussie Rules Football for kids, in case you were wondering. And seems like a rite of passage/ and or possible cult indoctrination for most kids.) They think it's adorable that I marvel at the friendly waiting staff (see above) and eulogise about the Bay (see below). I'm wonderfully un-jaded about life in Melbourne because everything is new. Things here haven't had time to piss me off yet. That's the beauty of being a newcomer. I think they enjoy my enthusiasm for stuff they've taken for granted or have seen as simply unremarkable for so long and enjoy quizzing me on my thoughts on everything.
I think the fact that everyone here has emerged from a 2 year Covid lockdown means many are still finding their socialising feet. One of the first parties I went to after arriving was one of the first parties anyone had been to in over 2 years so everyone shared in that collective nervousness, which was strangely bonding. I'm still pretty dumb struck that teeny tiny children walk on their own to school here. (okay, I'm exaggerating on the tiny-ness, but some are definitely under 10.) I have to resist the urge to shout out to them "ARE YOU LOST? DO YOU NEED YOUR MUMMY??" like a crazy British Lady. When they're simply trotting on their merry way to or from school.
I also love how easy it is to visit friends here without having to think about factoring in a 2 hour round trip, or sitting in soul destroying traffic or booking them 6 months in advance just to pop in for a cuppa. Back home, the fact everyone is just too busy doing all the STUFF and THINGS that London life forces people to do in their precious evenings and weekends because they make them so damn hard to do in daylight hours adds to that. I also have my husband, Sonny to thank for having such welcoming friends who he's cultivated and nurtured even with his 22 year hiatus living away from them in London. I've basically just waltzed in to his Homeland and pinched them all for myself. Ha.
How could I have lived in a city without a sea front for so long?? Some Melbournians scoff when I profess my love for the Bayside beaches here. I guess they're right, there are so many more beautiful beaches in Australia, properly picture postcard stuff, so the Bay is like the city's sewage outlet pipe overflow compared to that. (And I suspect, that isn't even a metaphor and actually true.)
But I just love it. One of the main reasons I left London was to get away from the overwhelming oppressive feeling of being surrounded by all that concrete. London Covid lockdown definitely tipped me over the edge in needing at least some form of nature and beauty in my life. I'm not exactly living in the outback here, but I love seeing a flock of pelicans flying over the water when I'm walking the dog. And I used to take Essie to feed the ducks in the stagnant pond near our old house in London. Now we feed the puffer fish off the side of the jetty.
The ebb and flow of the tides, the sound of the water on windy days, and the sheer expanse of liquid as far as the eyes can see versus concrete is such a good mental health leveller. Often I'm the only person walking along Elwood beach. On warm mornings I can't believe it's not packed. If we had something even half as lovely in London they would be selling tickets to it. There'd definitely be a million bucket n spade shops dotted along it and some noisy arcades spoiling the zen. Maybe one day I'll just see it as a glorified toilet bowl too like some of Sonny's mates and not a place of wonder and beauty. But I'm very grateful to live only ten minutes from somewhere I can immerse my body and wash away the dark moments, feelings of overwhelm gone in seconds. I've gotten in to cold water swimming here. I'm the least likely person to ever try such a barbaric activity. Funnily enough I never fancied trying it at my local verucca-laden Leisure Centre, back home. Obvs if it's rained heavily here then the water quality gets too bad and all swimming and immersion is off. On second thoughts, maybe that toilet bowl reference was actually quite accurate....
Missing loved ones is easy. And at the same time excruciatingly hard. It's been easier than I thought to be so far away from my Twin Sister and Mum and Niece and Nephew and Bestie and my Bestie's little girl who smells of blueberry pancakes and happiness and....*SOB!*.... Okay, it hasn't been easy at all. But it's been weird how homesickness has presented itself to me. It's definitely not how I imagined it would be.
When Mum came to visit recently, Essie (4) ran into her arms and snuggled into her neck and summed up perfectly the feeling. Sighing softly, she said; 'Oh, you smell like London, Deb Deb.' Which was so true. She smelt like home. And that's what I miss the most. The smell of the people I love. With the wonders of modern Facetime, I can still speak to them and share in our lives, but you can't sniff them. The smell of my Sister, or my Sister's house, or my Sister's sausage dog, Winnie - when she's not windy - that's the familiar smell of comfort and home and LOVE.
Missing people is a visceral, sensory thing, I've found. On Mum's visit, I'd done pretty well not getting too emotional. (Thanks in part to my wonderful new anti depressants. Oh so dreamy.) I've found I can suppress missing people because I'm in a place where there are no memories of them to jolt me out of myself. But the minute I popped one of my Mum's roast potatoes in my mouth the tears just began to flow and flow. It was spontaneous and involuntary and it took me aback. Yes I missed hugging my Mum, so very much, but I also missed the nuances of her food; her LIFE-GIVING ROAST SPUDS, the sound of her cooking in the Kitchen, or laughing at the kids for doing something silly, or swearing like a hooligan at the football on the telly. My senses were filled with home when she came. And it's horrible when those smells and sounds aren't all around me anymore.
Next time she visits, instead of getting her to bring me jars of Marmite and Boots No7 face cream, I might ask her to pinch my sisters old T shirts for me to sniff. Would that be weird?
Foreign supermarkets are still a thrill even after a year. The first time I went in to a Coles (think Tesco, for the UK supermarket equivalent) I spent a long time just marvelling at the different foods there. All the strange, new packaging, the way they call Rice Krispies 'Rice Bubbles' (er, sorry what??) and just the vast array of new foods to try. Party Pies are a big staple here. Even though they're revolting little puddles of meat in what looks like mince pie casing. None of the family like them. Maybe in another year we will though. Ha. Being in a different hemisphere also makes for way more gnarly looking vegetables and exotic fruits.
Many things are more wonderful - who knew there were so many different flavours of Tim Tam biscuit? Other things, less so - Heinz baked beans just taste WEIRD here. As does Cadburys chocolate. Then there's the lingo. Today I got stuck at the self service checkout, a queue of people pilling up behind me. I couldn't for the life of me find the Aubergines in the onscreen menu. Suddenly I turned to the guy waiting extremely patiently behind me as I flapped around (I told you everyone's nice here) and asked "What the hell do you call one of these things?" waving the aubergine in his face like a phalic emoji. "Eggplant" he replied deadpan. "Ah, yes. Silly me" I said, stuffing it in my bag, feeling like a wally. Then there's 'Capsicum' (Er, it's 'Red Pepper,' guys.) 'Zucchini.' (Um, we're not in Italy, people.) And 'Pepitas.' (This one I had to look up. Why the hell they can't just call them 'Pumpkin Seeds' is beyond me...)
The weather here is properly mental. Being British I'm used to bad weather. I'm also used to talking about bad weather and muttering about the unseasonably cold weather/hot weather/wet weather at any given time. Saying that, I find the weather still much more bearable here than the UK. Well, in some respects. The Melbourne winter had lots of big, bright blue skies and there wasn't the endless months of darkness creeping in at 3pm to contend with which was actual bliss. But the weather is BIG here. I have never heard wind like the wind I've heard whistling past my bedroom window some nights. Sometimes it's so windy I feel like I must be about to star in a disaster movie. But it's the sheer bonkers-ness of the 'four seasons in one day' climate that's difficult to contend with. Put it this way, it's supposed to be summer now. On Friday I got sunburnt walking the dog in the park for ten minutes. The next day there were hail stones the size of tick tacs landing in the garden and the temperature had gone from a pleasant 23 degrees, to Arctic winter in less than 12 hours. I'm currently sat in a cashmere jumper by the fire, the heat of which is tingling my sunburnt nose. Crazy. I've decided Melbourne is peri menopausal. This constant hot-cold-hot-cold-sweaty-cold-angry-sunny-wet-dry.... It's the only answer.
Would I do the move again knowing how hard it's been settling the kids? This is the question I get asked the most. The move has been very, very hard at times. Shockingly so. Settling kids into new lives is always hard. That old adage about kids being resilient is bollocks. When you come from a long line of anxious, neurotics this big a change was never going to be easy. Kids feel HUGE feelings, and don't have the frontal lobe development to process any of them. Then throw in neurodivergent brains to that mix that thrive on routine and stability, plus new pre-teen hormones and grief with the death of our beloved 'Pops' - Sonny's Dad very sadly died a few months after we arrived - and shitty job losses (don't ask. Some ad agencies are disgusting, toxic soul-sappers) and all in all it's been quite the ride.
BUT...
The fact that everything is that bit easier here has been a Godsend. It's super easy to drive Woody (9) to therapies. (Abundant, free parking! No traffic!) Then there's some amazing support from friends. (People aren't busy doing all the STUFF and THINGS!) And when it all gets too much I can run away to the Bay and scream into the ocean. (When it hasn't rained too heavily, obvs.)
Change is hugely challenging, but it's also pretty energising. I was scared to make any changes in my life for so long. My 'what if?' excuses were getting in the way and holding me, rooted in fear, to the spot. A spot that was making me feel ill. I'd only ever lived a few miles from where I was born. I thought London was the bees knees, so why would I need to go anywhere else? Until it started to feel less-so.
Melbourne hasn't stolen all of my heart just yet. But I like being the outsider for a while. I like shrugging cluelessly about the politics and not feeling like I need to fix everything that's wrong here. It's not my battle to fight. I know that feeling won't last forever so I'm trying to make the most of it.
If you're thinking of making a big move, I'd definitely say go for it. Just maybe remember that the things you were scared of happening probably won't and new things you never even dreamt of happening, will. Nothing is ever how you imagine it, even in your wildest dreams. But that's the joy of discovering something new. Especially after thinking you'd never, ever leave somewhere. Oh, and one more thing. Remember to pack your Loved Ones old T-shirts to sniff and cuddle when the dreaded homesickness hits.
Char X
