The Red Centre

Just because I've been on a long hiatus doesn't mean that we haven't been up to loads of exciting stuff. It's just that adulting really gets in the way.

Excuses made, one of our favorite recent-ish adventures was a three-day jaunt to the desert to get a good look at that giant rock that everybody goes on about.

I can see how visiting Uluru (formerly Ayers Rock) is one of those destinations that give people pause. It's expensive, it's a big rock, it's in the middle of nowhere. I was once such a sceptic, but if you asked me now, 'Is it really worth it?' I would give you a resounding, 'yes'.

We took gamble and visited in December, the hottest and wettest time of the year. The average daily temperature in summer is 38C/100F and 47C/116F is not unusual. There is almost literally no shade and most hiking trails close at 10am this time of year. The well-posted warnings about heatstroke/water/sunscreen are truly dire. The Australian outback is an inhospitable place, even if you're barely venturing 30 miles from the hotel pool.

However, braving the heat has its rewards, not only is it less crowded (Uluru receives about 250,000 visitors annually) but during this time the waterfalls streaming down the sides of Uluru are in full-flow and the sunsets are beyond spectacular.

The fun begins upon arrival at the tin shed that passes for an airport, where you are greeted with this:

Unfortunately, we did not encounter any dingoes

It's a short ride from the airport to the resort and from a distance the resort resembles a semi-permanent refugee camp in the middle of nowhere. This is not the kind of attraction where you pull up, toss your keys to the valet and find yourself just a few steps from the rock.

Uluru is a very sacred place for the Anangu, the local aboriginal people, and to have any man-made structures interfering with the landscape would be a tremendous affront. As a result, the resort is a nearly 20 minute drive from the National Park so there is no disruption to the landscape. Whoever came up with/instituted this policy is a national treasure.

Uluru has been a National Park since the late 1950s but control of the land was given back to the aboriginal community in 1985. Since then the Anangu have leased the lands back to the National Park Service and it is currently jointly managed between these two groups.

Back to our adventure.  So Uluru is big. Really, really big. The circumference is nearly 6 miles around and the only way to really take it in is to walk or cycle the base (we cycled, 10/10 would do again). From a distance you'd never see the waterfalls and 5000 year-old ancient rock art (no photographs please). Pardon the analogy, but Uluru is a bit like looking at an impressionist painting. From a distance, it appears quite uniform and coherent, up-close, it's a total mess.

If that isn't enough to convince you it's worth the trip, perhaps a trek down the road to the lesser-known, less crowded, but (controversially) in my opinion, even better Kata Tjuta (formerly The Olgas) will do the trick.

More big, old (like 550 million year-old), red rocks, yes - but due to weather patterns Kata Tjuta has endured more wind erosion, hence the greater variation in size and shape. Also, if you're itching to get your hiking boots on, this is the place to do it.

While you can technically climb Uluru, it is not only dangerous but extremely disrespectful to the aboriginal owners and these days very few people attempt to do it. Kata Tjuta, on the other hand, has a fully-sanctioned 7.4km circuit hike that takes you into the heart of the landscape and is handily one of the best hikes I've ever done.

While the rocks in and of themselves are staggeringly impressive, it's the overall landscape that completes the experience. As anyone who has spent anytime in the American Southwest will know, there is something almost intoxicating about the sheer space of it all. In a space like this it is dangerously tempting to load up a 4WD and carry on until you run out of road.

Just don't forget your fly net, the flies really are far worse than you can imagine.

Ode to Tasmania

It wasn't a trip that I thought I'd squeeze in this year, but a combination of cheap flights and the prospect of a lonely week home alone conspired to make it happen. Jittery with anticipation, I returned to Tasmania for the first time in just over 15 years.

But first, let me back up a bit. I caught the travel bug at an inappropriately young age. My sister and I were carted around on a lot of lengthy domestic roadtrips, usually to to visit one of my mother's seven siblings. A few of my uncles had the good grace to live outside the geographical confines of the Midwest, but unfortunately no one lived in Florida. 

In retrospect, I owe my mother a hearty thanks for bypassing Disney World and Florida altogether. I was in Orlando for a conference last year and it was hell on earth. I've been put out with Florida since the 2000 election anyway and the cross-section of humanity at the Orlando airport did little to raise my opinion of the place. In lieu of Disney, it was the likes of Mount Rushmore, the Alamo and countless day trips to Chicago. I am eternally thankful.

At age 16, I somehow managed to convince my mother that it would be an excellent idea to let me go to Australia for a summer and live with complete strangers. (I seem to remember pushing for Africa, but she put her foot down - as a nurse I think she was more willing to risk a tango with the wildlife in Oz than disease in Africa.)

Fifteen years later, it's still one of the best and most formative experiences of my life. Those complete strangers I lived with are five of my favorite people on the planet - all five of them hauled from around the world to attend our wedding in Chicago in 2011. Their car (Nia, Adrienne, just in case you are reading - I haven't crashed) is currently residing on our street Sydney. I'm so lucky to have been placed with such a generous and special family - so a huge part of my trip back last week was to catch up with some of the wonderful people I met 15 years ago. (Insert here massive thanks to Tanya and Shaylyn - tour guides and chauffeurs extraordinare!)

Okay, enough of the soppy stuff. Tasmania is seriously beautiful. Of course I remembered it as beautiful, but I had forgotten just how truly stunning it is. This is a special place. In fact, it's tempting to just quit writing and let my photos do the talking. For real.

My memories of Tasmania were a bit fragmented, there were things I remembered distinctly and other things I had no recollection of; but on the whole I am delighted to report that Tasmania seems (to me anyway) to have changed remarkably little. It is a working class island, dominated by forestry, fishing, mining and tourism. The buildings are tidy and utilitarian and to a city dweller even the larger towns feel distinctly rural. As someone who grew up in small-town, middle-America, this is a place where I feel very much at home.

Life moves a bit slower in Tassie and although distances are short, the roads are windy and narrow. It takes time to get around; but with virtually every hairpin turn offering another stunning vista across the sea, forest, rolling pasture or mountains - the long car rides don't bother me in the least (motion sickness aside).

Suffice it to say that this is a place worth making time for. I can't guarantee that you'll get four glorious days of unrelenting sunshine like I did, but it's still well-worth the trip. 

Bros, Babes & Bondi

Seven months in Sydney and we finally hauled ourselves out to Bondi and the eastern beaches. Bondi is the city's most famous ocean-side beach and even in late winter it is a crowded crescent of sand where the bold and the beautiful come out to play.

This is where Australia's famous laid-back beach culture becomes a self-caricature. Bondi is the kind of place where bronzed bros strut around with gym towels draped casually around their necks as if a towel is a legitimate fashion accessory. Feel me, bro?

Smaller and quieter Bronte Beach

The setting is stunning; there is no denying that (although you might be distracted from the curvy coast by curves of another kind). The 10km coastal path that starts at Bondi and carries south to Coogee is a windy track that hugs the coast line; descending to small beaches and ascending to the tops of coastal cliffs along the way.

It's a well-trodden route, popular with tourists and locals alike. There's parents negotiating SUV-sized prams up and down the many sets of stairs; tourists stopping abruptly every three feet or so for yet another selfie; the doggy day-care folks wrangling packs of yappy dogs; the bewildered (us); and of course the fitness buffs.

Ocean swimming pool on Bondi-Coogee Coastal Path

Given the chaos on the path it strikes me as odd that this where anyone would choose to go for a run. The navigation required eliminates any chance of taking in the scenery and the stop-and-go nature of traffic on the path is enough to test the patience of a London bus driver.  It would also appear that lipstick, eye-liner and push-up bras are (rather impractically) all part of the workout uniform in this part of town. Maybe it's not really about the exercise after all; if you are young and fit, this is the place to see and be seen.

That said, it's all bit absurd, but harmless and the crowds start to thin once you hit Clovelly; a lovely spot with snorkeling and stunning views. For my part, I'm going to stick with Manly and the northern beaches where being over 30 isn't a crime and you can eat your fish and chips in peace without harsh looks of judgement.

Why I don't want to live in America anymore

A question that I get asked a lot is some variation on: Do you miss living in America? Do you want to go back?

The answer is, no. And nothing sums up why better than this advertisement:




While I loathe everything about this commercial from his over-quaffed Aryan looks to his souless Pottery Barn house and smug (completely misguided) superiority; it does succinctly sum up exactly why I don't want to live in America any more.

America has a lot of seriously misguided priorities, but at the most fundamental, human level is the right to take some time off to go on a vacation (or staycation). Further, the insinuation that the rest of the world is lazy, is so ridiculous that I'm not even going to bother discussing it.

Here in Australia we are entitled to a legal minimum of 4 weeks + public holidays paid annual leave, although 5 weeks + public holidays is standard for the public sector. I know that entitlement in the US varies widely, but the fact that there is no legally-guaranteed minimum is enough to keep me out of the country. (Of course, Australia also has a minimum wage of $17.00+ an hour, legal entitlement to paid maternity leave, and a healthcare system where I don't lose sleep about bankruptcy over a broken leg.)

I personally know of American-based friends and family who have worked in high-level jobs requiring a minimum of a masters degree and they have had 1 vacation day per month that had to be taken within that month.  I've heard of people refused time off for their own wedding. I know that some employers in the US are more generous than others, but it is a cold, hard fact that we find it much more difficult to travel with or get visits from our US-based friends and family than their European and Australian counterparts. The Americans are squeezed for time down to the hour.

I have lived on the other side of the world for over 9 years, and I am certain that my generous paid-leave entitlements have left me with far more time to go home for long breaks and spend quality time with my family and friends - far more so than if I lived in California and had to squeeze in a flying visit to Illinois once a year.

I know that people have different priorities and if you want to work yourself into the ground and collect lots of stuff for the house that you're never in - to each their own. But study after study has clearly shown that workers with more paid time off are more productive, happier and more likely to stay in the job.

So, to the guy in the Cadillac ad - enjoy collecting your cookie-cutter junk, asshole, I'm going to go stop at the cafe, see the world and spend time with the people I care most about.

Oh, and thanks to excellent public transportation and the ability to walk places without having to cross a freeway, we don't need your Cadillac either.

N'est-ce pas?

My favorite things about living in Oz (so far)

Bacon. 

As an American who served 5 years time in the UK, I've been drawn into more than one streaky bacon (good) vs. back bacon (less good) debate. Australia has a rather elegant (and obvious) solution to this problem: just serve both together in a single, delicious, meaty, fatty strip about two feet long (very good).

Happy people.

Australians are so good-natured and cheerful that you'd be excused for wondering if they were all accustomed to a good morning slug of gin just to get the day off to the right start. Seriously, these people are friendly and happy to the point of suspicion. Australia is known as the Lucky Country - and with good reason - there's the great weather, a booming economy, fabulous food, drink and some of the best cities, beaches and scenery in the world. What's not to be happy about?

Wine.

While some wine aficionados might lament the lack of availability of Old World wines (or in my case the odd California Zinfandel), but I'm having a terrific time working my way through a cache of fabulous Antipodean vintages. I'm partial to Margaret River reds, Tassie pinots and of course Kiwi sauvignon blancs, but we've still got lots of sampling to do.

Roadtrips.

 

Australia has several world-class cities, but for me it is the long, lonely stretches in between that make Australia so alluring. This map shows all the major paved roads in a country the size of the continental USA. There are huge swathes inaccessible by anything but 4WD and dirt tracks - even the vast majority of the paved roads are single lane.

If you are thinking of hitting the tracks, just make sure you're properly stocked with water, petrol, satellite phone and that someone knows where you are. Also, don't watch the film Wolf Creek before you set off; bad things can happen out there.

Coffee culture.

Australians may love The Queen and playing cricket, but happily for me they've traded in tea for the good stuff. Try and get a bad cup of coffee in urban Australia - I dare you. Want to know exactly what's going on behind the cafe counter? Day-long barista courses are a popular past-time and come with an official certificate. Even McDonald's boasts 'barista' made coffee. Stroll down the high street of any trendy suburb and every second shop will be a cafe offering an overwhelming selection of beans and brews to choose from. Just make sure you study up before your order, asking for a filter coffee will get you a look of pity and despair - flat white and long black are the order of the day.

Aboriginal Art 

 

I could fill a house with this stuff - if only I could afford it. There's an almost unlimited amount of fantastic art out there, from modern Rothko-inspired paintings to traditional fine arts of paintings on bark with natural pigments.

The more you know about a particular piece, the more interesting it becomes. Aboriginal art is highly secretive - some paintings are desert maps of watering holes decipherable only to a particular community. Other paintings reflect aboriginal knowledge of local plants and animals.  It's fascinating and beautiful stuff - now we just need to save up.

Six month check-up

It's been almost six months exactly since we left Malaysia and moved to Australia. Before we left I did a blog post on the things that I would miss and the things that I would not. Turns out, that list was pretty much spot on. But here are a few things I overlooked:

Winter isn't so bad 

 

So I've done (more than) my fair share of complaining about the mild Australian winter, but I did overlook an upside. Winter cooking. A nice steak and ale pie just doesn't taste as good when it is hot outside. Fact.

I can haz warms 

 

On another wintry note, the cat loves us so much more when it's cold outside. Yes, we know she is just using us for our warms, we don't care. Back in the tropics, she her meows could roughly be translated as 'oi, geroff me.'

Clean and cold tap water is a real luxury. 

Just because the tap water in Kuala Lumpur won't kill you, that doesn't mean you want to drink it. After a big storm our taps would often run brown sludge. We even had to put a filter on our washing machine so our clothes didn't come out dirtier than they went in. Sydney water is awesome.

These boots were made for walkin'

 

Walking places. In KL to walk anywhere was to take your life into your hands, whether it was the open six-foot deep storm drains, broken and dilapidated sidewalks, piles of mystery rubble and garbage, drivers using pedestrians for target practice or all of the above. Sydney is a pedestrian dream. Well maintained bike and walking paths, functioning intersections, and drivers that give pedestrians the right-of-way. In Sydney, the biggest hazard is show-off fitness-buffs mowing down packs of tourists and small children jogging in Circular Quay.

Learning the lingo

Just because they officially speak English in Australia does not mean I understand everything that is said. Some Aussie accents are more impenetrable than a soused Scotsman at Hogmanay.  Throw in some of their bonkers slang to boot and I am at a complete, utter loss.  In Malaysia, as long as you understood 'can' and 'cannot' you could go far.

 Parking

We went to IKEA last weekend. IKEA is exactly the same every where in the world, a full-fledged, bonafide, three-ring circus. As we circled the parking garage like vultures I did fleetingly think, 'if we were in Malaysia, we could just abandon the car anywhere and get away with it.' Then I came to my senses.

Getting the same answer every time. 

 

When I was working through the final details of getting the cat admitted into Australia, I had to ring up the Department of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries as well as the Quarantine Centre a few times. When I did, something magical happened: if I asked both departments the same question, I received the same answer. Every. Single. Time. The answer didn't change depending upon who picked up the phone, or what day of the week it was or if there was a full moon. There was a single, correct answer - not four conflicting ones, each with kernel of truth.

(Attempting to) Make that which is uninteresting, interesting

Sydney residents are genuinely spoiled. There is an almost an overwhelming amount of things to see and do locally - stunning national parks, world class beaches, art, festivals, great food, coffee and wine. All against the backdrop of a beautiful, cosmopolitan, laid-back city. With such a streak of good stuff, we were bound to strike out eventually. And strike out we did.

Cockatoo Island today

Cockatoo Island, isn't exactly the Opera House,  but it is a pretty famous and well-regarded Sydney landmark. The history of the place is interesting enough - it's a tiny island in Sydney Harbour that was used to house convicts starting in the mid-19th century and later served as a reform centre for shall we say, ladies of the night and such. Think of it as a sort of Australian Alcatraz-cum-industrial centre.

Convict labor helped to turn the island into a shipbuilding site that reached its heyday during WWII (long after the convicts were gone). The few photos on the self-guided tour show an impressive operation, the largest ships appear to have dwarfed the island in size. Work on the final ship built at Cockatoo Island commenced in 1979 and by the early 90s the island was relegated to the largely deserted industrial wasteland that it is today.

The problem with Cockatoo Island is not that there isn't an interesting history behind it, but that there is nothing to see. I assure you that by reading the account you will have virtually the same experience as if you went there in person (minus the disappointment). Since Cockatoo Island was operational until relatively recently, that means it was a functioning industrial site long enough for all the interesting stuff of historical note to have been long since replaced, destroyed or removed.

Cockatoo Island is for all intents and purposes a scrap of prime real-estate in Sydney Harbour, covered in locked, empty, mouldering warehouses that are masquerading as a tourist attraction. The only benefit to being on Cockatoo Island, is that since you are standing on it, it is no longer a concrete blot on an otherwise pleasing view.

After our visit, I couldn't resist the urge to look up Cockatoo Island on TripAdvisor, just to see what others thought. (Insert caveat here, that I normally find TripAdvisor quite unreliable, more on that in an upcoming post.)

Anyway, Cockatoo has pretty solid reviews on TripAdvisor.

• 170 Excellent or Very Good 
• 24 Average
• 13 Poor or Terrible

Now my disappointment in Cockatoo Island has nothing to do with a general disinterest in history or unwillingness to read a few plaques etc. I have not one, but two history degrees, and I thought it was boring.

Port Arthur, Tasmania

So we trawled through a lot of the reviews and noticed an interesting pattern. Most of the people who really enjoyed it were actual Australians.

Now for some insight into the Australian psyche. Australians are very self-conscious of their relative 'newness' as a nation. They crave to have a kind of European History; this is why you'll meet the odd Australian who still talks about the UK as 'home' even though they've never been there. And let's face it, Australia is so young in 'Western' historical terms that it makes the United States look old.

 I don't say this to be critical, I think it's nice that Australia wants to carve out it's own modern historical narrative (and it's kind of quaint). And, Australian convict history is and can be visually and physically interesting and very moving. Cockatoo Island forms part of a 10-location World Heritage Site of convict locales throughout the country. Make the trip to Tasmania (an actual underrated destination) and go to Port Arthur (another site on the World Heritage listing) instead - now that really is a fascinating place (and Tassie has really good wine too).

But, this perceived lack of history is also rather problematic. The modern Australian narrative (although it is has improved significantly over the last 20 years or so) is still very much a santized, white-washed (no pun intended!) version of history. (*Before you shout 'hypocrite', yes, I am very aware you could say the same about much of American history!)

Red Hands painting at Ku Ring Gai

Anyway, take this for example; on Saturday we headed out to Ku Ring Gai National Park which aside from wildlife (we saw a wallaby) and amazing hiking trails, has numerous underrated and largely unvisited Aboriginal cave paintings and carvings that have - get this, an upper age limit of 2000 years!

Two. Thousand. Years. There is your history, Australia. Cave paintings, still in existence after all those years of exposure and made of nothing more than pigments from local plants. How about a little more historical pride there?

On the Road Again

Badly needing a break from the city and taking advantage of a holiday weekend (the Queen's birthday, although not actually the Queen's birthday . . .) Anyway, we left Catface in the capable hands of the teenager upstairs (who was only too happy to binge on Netflix and try to woo Catface all weekend) and hopped a flight up to Brisbane.

Fully embracing his wannabe inner-Aussie, Ian has been dying to hit the road in campervan. Second only to surfing and consuming alcoholic beverages outdoors, road-tripping in a beat up VW Microbus or campervan is about the most quintessentially Australian activity in which one can participate.

Unfortunately for us, we don't own a VW Microbus and renting campervans is not as cheap as it should be.  By time you factor in the extra fuel consumption, campsite fees and rental costs you break even with cheap flights and basic motels. However, given the long distances that people frequently cover in Oz, there are a lot of one-way rentals which means they need to get back to their place of origin.

Hello campervan relocation schemes! If you've got a bit of flexibility and can plan at the last minute, you can get a one-way relocation deal which usually means you get the campervan for $1 a day so long as you get it back to the home city by the required date - the best deals even include a fuel allowance.

Anyway, Ian managed to get a Brisbane to Sydney relocation on the Tuesday morning and by Friday morning we were headed for the airport. We had a fab night out in Brisbane where everyone is super fit and falls into one of two categories - hipster or homeless chic.

Early the next morning we collected our wobbly wheels and knocking barely 2 hours and 200 kilometres off the 11 hour/1000km journey home we nipped out of Queensland just back over the border into New South Wales and parked ourselves at the Brokenhead Holiday Park at Byron Bay for the next two nights. (*No one availed themselves of the Chemical Dump Point during out stay. Phew.)

In this fairly populous corner of Oz, beach camping and sleeping in laybys etc. is strictly prohibited and even more strictly enforced. So we joined dozens of other holidaymakers who also had the brilliant idea to live outdoors less conveniently and practically on top of each other in what some countries would probably be considered a well-organised refugee camp. This desire to camp in such close quarters with complete strangers has always slightly baffled me, but Australians are so good-natured that within about 10 minutes you're best friends with your new neighbour as you stand outside with a beer admiring each others wheels and swapping traffic notes.

Byron Bay is a big destination in Australia - and rightfully so. The scenery isn't as dramatic as some spots along the West Coast, nor does it feel particularly remote (because it isn't), but it is still undeniably beautiful.

Given Byron Bay's huge popularity two things struck me immediately:

1. There are virtually no permanent structures on any of the beaches in the area. A few have tasteful holiday cottages owned by the Park Service, but even they are set back into the treeline enough that they are barely visible. No concrete monstrosities here. Amazing.
2. We did not see (and I do not exaggerate) a single piece of garbage or litter the entire time. If Switzerland had a coast, this is what it would be like.

To be honest those two factors alone were more than enough to win me over, but the hikes and beaches are pretty stunning too.
After two surprisingly comfortable nights in our van and far too much red wine and red meat we began our journey back south. Our plan was to do the rest of the journey in a single blitz, but we did want to make a quick detour just south of Coff's Harbor to check out the fabled Waterfall Way.

Considered a top scenic drive in NSW, this route is more Ferngully than Baywatch and makes for a pleasant if abrupt change of scenery. Turning away from the coast you head into the hills of Australia's Great Dividing Range (it's not as dramatic as it sounds, more Appalachian than Rocky) but the route shoots you into the Gondwana Rainforest - a World Heritage Site and the most extensive subtropical rainforest in the world. Unfortunately our exploration time was pretty limited, but we did head into Dorrigo National Park to check out the Rainforest Centre and even squeezed in a quick 3km hike to one of the Park's prize waterfalls (we'll be back for more in the future).

All too soon we were back on the road and headed south as clouds gathered over the distant Pacific and the sun set behind the hills of the Great Dividing Range.

Whaling around town

Unobliging wolves in Yellowstone, unwilling orang-utans in Borneo and uncooperative tigers in India - we have some experience of the local wildlife refusing to put in an appearance at the required time and place. So when we set off for North Head (a hamlet of Sydney Harbour National Park near Manly) for a bit of whale watching on Wednesday afternoon, our expectations weren't too high.

It was an area we'd been meaning to check out anyway as it offers stunning views out over the South Pacific and back to the city. But it's also migration season for Humpback and Southern Right Whales (they are headed north to the Coral Sea for the summer) and several had been spotted off of Bondi Beach just a few days earlier. It was a beautiful day - nearly 80 degrees and even the light breeze off the Pacific still had a touch of summer warmth.

As promised, the views were stunning. I'm still a bit in awe of Sydney and can't quite believe we live here:

View from North Head, Sydney Harbour National Park

I digress. So we found ourselves at North Head and after a few moments of gawking at the city, we headed for the ocean-side lookouts. Being a weekday afternoon, it was quiet with only a sprinkling of tourists, suicidal-looking guys in suits and a few retired couples milling about. 

We didn't have to wait long. Not hardly ten minutes after our arrival, a spout of water shot up from the surface. It was a mildly breezy and there were a few white caps on the water, but this looked distinctly different. We held out breath and waited. A few minutes later something big broke the surface and we couldn't hardly believe our luck. 

This whale wasn't in much of a hurry and was still quite far away, we could see him/her clearly with the binoculars, but our camera lens couldn't stretch quite that far. Fifteen minutes later, it was swimming near the edge of the rocks almost directly below us and we could see him/her with our naked eye under the surface of the water. 

He/she splashed around a bit more and eventually graced us with a few full-breaches of the surface. Unfortunately, this is the best photo we got, but I assure you it was spectacular.

Occasionally, I worry slightly about my wanderlust and my (bad) tendency to get bored with a place before I've even had a chance to fully explore it. I don't think Sydney and I are going to have that problem, I think we are going to be just fine.

We're here!

Well as you can see by the new title of this blog, we've now officially left Malaysia and we are one week into our new life in Sydney.

So far so good. We've found a great neighborhood in the inner suburbs - Artarmon. It is leafy and green with a handful of good restaurants, a local butcher and vegetable market. It's just 20 minutes via the train to downtown and just 15 minutes in the opposite direction for Ian to get to work.

Housing here is incredibly expensive and competitive ($525-650 a week for a smallish 2 bed, 1 bath place), so we've been on a bit of learning curve. The process for renting here is not dissimilar to buying a house - for most rental properties a short open house is arranged on a given morning and then anyone interested can turn up and submit an application.  Competition can be fierce so it isn't uncommon to offer more than the asking rental price to increase your chances.

Otherwise things are going smoothly, prices are high, but aren't quite as bad as I imagined - and things actually go on SALE. Nothing ever, ever goes on sale at the supermarket in Malaysia (largely because so many foods are subsidized by the government).

In between house-hunting we've been getting out to explore our new city. The sheer amount of things to see and do here is overwhelming (and wonderful). Even though we've both been here before, we couldn't resist the temptation to race down to the harbour and ogle at the bridge and opera house. We've explored some of the northern beaches and today plan on checking out our closest (and by close I'm mean 10 minute drive!) to Lane Cove National Park.

There will literally be a national park in our backyard. We are very happy people.

Oh, did I mention the wine? My god, it doesn't taste like vinegar here - it tastes like, wine! Nice wine.

Final countdown

The movers come in 10 days. After that we have 5 days to re-home, dispose or squeeze into a suitcase everything that is left behind.

Cat #2 will be the first to go. He leaves us on Saturday, going to a good home, the home of a close friend. Catface stays with us till the bitter end, before she goes to the cattery where she will spend 6 weeks before catching her own flight to Sydney and then pulling through a final 10 days in quarantine before we get her back and beg her forgiveness.

Aside from the cats, we're feeling pretty calm about things. We've done this before with less money, less time and less experience. Also going from the second-world to the first-world, is so much easier than the reverse. We already have bank accounts, three weeks accommodation and visas for Australia. When we arrived in Malaysia three years ago, we had none of that.

Old pros with international moves, we've been sorting and culling junk for weeks, parting with things we didn't know we'd even acquired.

We've also been making a running list of the things that must make it into the suitcase. It's an odd list, but as we will beat our shipment to Oz by some weeks, there's some surprising things that you need:

• Bath towels
• A good knife
• Chopping board
• A pan
• Sheets
• Coffee press . . . 

Things that you can't live without, but to re-buy them for just a few weeks when you have your own on the way is infuriating. And expensive. So expensive. Even with a great company-paid moving package, international moves are expensive. The constant dining out  because you don't have a kitchen, the deposits, the essentials that can't make it into the suitcase, buying a new car and in our case the goddamn cat.

Southbound and down (under)

Well our great Southeast Asian adventure will shortly be drawing to a close (and this blog will need a new name). We will be embarking on an entirely new adventure to Australia. Yes, we are moving to Sydney.

We're excited. Australia is a nice place. A really nice place. For the third year in a row, Sydney, Adelaide, Perth, and Melbourne have all made the cut for the 10 best cities to live - worldwide.  We love Australia. We got engaged in Australia and it's really the perfect halfway house for an American/British couple. It has the space, friendliness and can-do attitude of the US combined with British common sense and a genuine sense of fair-play. Also, Rupert Murdoch no longer lives there.

Australia is also expensive. Food is particularly expensive. You're thinking, how bad can it be, right? Well let's take for example, one of the most essential products on earth, a 24 pack of decent beer (say, Goose Island equivalent) that will set you back a whopping AUD$72 (that's USD$68!!!) A lime, a single lime - not a pack or a bag of limes, but a single lime? AUD 1.75 (USD1.65).

Fortunately, like other expensive places (Scandinavia, Switzerland) the salaries just about make that a fathomable expense.

Anyway as I said, we're excited. After a brief bout of nostalgia on leaving Malaysia (and Asia generally) I also very much feel like it's time to go.  We've been here just over three years now and I think that's a pretty good run. As our time here grows shorter I also find that I'm quickly losing patience and tolerance for all of the little inefficiencies and hassles that were quaint and 'all part of the experience' in the early days of our arrival. Now, I just really want a dishwasher and the ease of paying my internet bill online.

But before we go we've got one more tropical Thanksgiving and Christmas to get through, one more jaunt to Thailand and lots of catching up to do on this blog. Departure day is January 24th.